The Switchover is Absolutely Sudden – Jean Klein

When you have a glimpse of reality, it is already in a certain way in your background. You see things less and less personally. There comes the quality of global vision, where there is no choice, no selection. You see things more and more as they are, not as you wish them to be, but as they really are. You live in this perspective, you love it, it is a jewel you wear, maybe several times a day. Then there comes a moment in your life that even this geometrical representation, the perspective, dissolves in your real nature. And then there is no return. This switchover is absolutely sudden, instantaneous. You live now without anticipation, without end-gaining. You live absolutely in the now. Thinking is a practical, useful tool which you use when you need it, but you no longer think when there is no need to think. There is no more daydreaming. You enjoy really freedom from thought. Oh! You will become a happy man! What more do you want?

-Jean Klein

From The book of Listening, pp. 17-18

You can read more from Jean Klein here.

 

Love Becomes the Door – Osho

It is felt by many in the west and elsewhere that the peak of love is reached only between an ‘I’ and a ‘thou’. If I and thou are both dropped, can love still exist? Can love exist without relationship?

Love, life, light – these three l’s are the most mysterious. And the mystery is this – that you cannot understand them logically. If you are illogical, you can penetrate them; if you are simply logical you cannot understand, because the whole phenomenon depends on a paradox. Try to understand.

When you love someone, two are needed: I and thou. Without two how can love be possible? If you are alone, how can you relate, how can you love? If you are alone there can be no love. Love is possible only when there are two, this is the base. But if they remain two love is again impossible. If they continue to be two then again love is impossible. Two are needed for love to exist, and then there is a second need – that the two must merge and become one. This is the paradox.

‘I’ and ‘thou’ is a basic requirement for love to exist but this is only the base. The temple can come only when these two merge into one. And the mystery is that somehow you remain two and somehow you become one. This is illogical. Two lovers are two and still one. They have found a bridge somewhere where I disappears, thou disappears; where a unity is formed, a harmony comes into being. Two are needed to create that harmony, but two are needed to dissolve into it.

It is just like this: a river flows, two banks are needed. A river cannot flow with only one bank, it is impossible; the river cannot exist. Two banks are needed for the river to flow. But if you look a little deeper those two banks are joined together just below the river. If they are not joined then also the river cannot exist, it will simply drop into the abyss. Two banks, apparently two on the surface, are one deep down.

Love exists like a river between two persons who on the surface remain two, but deep down have become one. That’s why I say it is paradoxical. Two are needed just to be dissolved into one. So love is a deep alchemy and very delicate. If you really become one, love will disappear, the river cannot flow. If you really remain two, love will disappear, because there can be no river in an abyss if the two banks are really separate. So lovers create a game in which on the surface they remain two and deep down they become one.

Sometimes they fight also, sometimes they are angry also, sometimes in every way they separate – but this is only on the surface. Their separation is just to get married again, their fight is just to create love again. They go a little away from each other just to come and meet again, and the meeting after the separation is beautiful. They fight to love again. They are intimate enemies. Their enmity is a play, they enjoy it.

If there is really love you can enjoy the fight. If there is no love, only then the fight becomes a problem; otherwise you can enjoy, it is a game. It creates hunger. If you have ever loved, then you know that love always reaches peaks after you have been fighting. Fight – you create the separation, and with separation the hunger arises, you feel starved; the other is needed more. You fall in love again, then there is a more intense meeting. To create that intensity the two should remain two, and at the same time, simultaneously, they should become one.

In India we have pictured Shiva as Ardhanarishwar – half-man, half-woman. That is the only symbol of its type all over the world. Shiva – half is man, half is woman; half Shiva and half Parvati, his consort. Half the body is of man and half of woman: Ardhanarishwar, half-man, half-woman. That is the symbol. Lovers join together but on the surface they remain two. Shiva is one, the body is two – half comes from Parvati, half he contributes. The body is two, on the surface the banks are two; in the depth the souls have mingled and become one.

Or look at it in this way: the room is dark, you bring two lamps into it, two candles into it. Those two candles remain two, but their light has mingled and become one. You cannot separate the light; you cannot say, “This light belongs to this candle and that light belongs to that candle.” Light has mingled and become one. The spirit is like light, the body is the candle.

Two lovers are only two bodies, but not two souls. This is very difficult to achieve. That’s why love is one of the most difficult things to achieve, and if even for moments you can achieve it is worth it. If even only for moments in your whole life, if even for moments you can achieve this oneness with someone, this oneness will become the door for the divine. Love achieved becomes the door for the divine, because then you can feel how this universe exists in the many and remains one.

But this can come only through experience – if you love a person and you feel that you are two and still one. And this should not be just a thought but an experience. You can think, but thinking is of no use. This must be an experience: how the bodies have remained two and the inner beings have merged, melted into each other – the light has become one.

Once experienced, then the whole philosophy of the Upanishads becomes exactly clear, absolutely clear. The many are just the surface; behind each individual is hidden the nonindividual, behind each part is hidden the whole. And if two can exist as two on the surface, why not many? If two can remain two and still one, why can’t many remain many and still one? One in the many is the message of the Upanishads. And this will remain only theoretical if you have never been in love.

But people go on confusing love with sex. Sex may be part of love, but sex is not love. Sex is just a physical, biological attraction, and in sex you remain two. In sex you are not concerned with the other, you are concerned with yourself. You are simply exploiting the other, you are simply using the other for some biological satisfaction of your own, and the other is using you. That’s why sexual partners never feel any deep intimacy. They are using the other. The other is not a person, the other is not a thou; the other is just an it, a thing you can use, and the other is using you. Deep down it is mutual masturbation and nothing else. The other is used as a device. It is not love, because you don’t care for the other.

Love is totally different. It is not using the other, it is caring for the other, it is just being happy in the other. It is not your happiness that you derive from the other; if the other is happy you are happy, and the other’s happiness becomes your happiness. If the other is healthy you feel healthy. If the other is dancing you feel a dance inside. If the other is smiling the smile penetrates you and becomes your smile.

Love is the happiness of the other; sex is happiness of your own, the other has to be used. In love the other’s happiness has become even more significant than your own. Lovers are each other’s servants, sex partners are each other’s exploiters.

Sex can exist in the milieu of love, but then it has a different quality; it is not sexual at all. Then it is one of the many ways of merging into each other. One of the many – not the only, not the sole, not the supreme. Many are the ways to merge into each other. Two lovers can sit silently with each other and the silence can become the merger. Really only lovers can sit silently.

Wives and husbands cannot sit silently, because silence becomes boredom. So they go on talking about something or other. They go on talking even nonsense, rubbish, rot, just to avoid the other. Their talk is to avoid the other, because if there is no talk the other’s presence will be felt, and the other’s presence is boredom. They are bored with each other so they go on talking. They go on giving each other news of the neighborhood, what was in the newspaper, what was on the radio, what was on the tv, what was in the film. They go on talking and chattering just to create a screen, a smokescreen, so the other is not felt. Lovers never like to chatter. Whenever lovers are together they will remain silent, because in silence merging is possible.

Lovers can merge in many ways. Both can enjoy a certain thing, and that enjoyment becomes a merger. Two lovers can meditate on a flower and enjoy the flower – then the flower becomes the merger. Both enjoying the same thing, both feeling ecstatic about the same thing, they merge. Sex is only one of the ways. Two lovers can enjoy poetry, a haiku, two lovers can enjoy painting, two lovers can just go for a walk and enjoy the walk together. The only thing necessary is togetherness. Whatsoever the act, if they can be together they can merge.

Sex is one of the ways of being together, bodily together. And I say not the supreme, because it depends . . . If you are a very gross person, then sex seems to be the supreme. If you are a refined person, if you have a high intelligence, then you can merge in anything. If you know higher realms of happiness, simply listening to music you can move into a deeper ecstasy than sex. Or simply sitting near a waterfall and the sound of the waterfall, and in that sound you both can merge. You are no more there; only the water falling and the sound, and that can become a higher peak of orgasm than can ever be attained through sex. Sex is for the gross. That is only one of the many ways in which lovers can merge and forget their I and thou and become one.

And unless you transcend sex and find out other ways, sooner or later you will be fed up with your lover, because sex will become repetitive, it will become mechanical. And then you will start looking for another partner, because the new attracts. Unless your partner remains constantly new you will get fed up. And it is very difficult; if you have only one way of enjoying each other’s togetherness, it is bound to become a routine. If you have so many ways to be together, only then can your togetherness remain fresh, alive, young, and always new.

Lovers are never old. Husbands and wives are always old; they may be married only for one day but they are old – one day old. The mystery has gone, the newness disappeared. Lovers are always young. They may have been together for seventy years but they are still young, the freshness is there. And this is possible only if sex is one of the ways of being together, not the only way. Then you can find millions of ways of being together, and you enjoy that togetherness. That togetherness is felt as oneness.

If two can exist as one, then many can exist as one. Love becomes the door for meditation, prayer. That is the meaning when Jesus goes on insisting that love is God – because love becomes the door, the opening towards the divine.

So to conclude, love is a relationship and yet not a relationship. Love exists between two, that’s why you can call it a relationship. And still, if love exists at all it is not a relationship, because the two must disappear and become one. Hence I call it one of the basic paradoxes, one of the basic mysteries which logic cannot reveal.

If you ask logic and mathematics, they will say that if there are two they will remain two, they cannot become one. If they become one, then they cannot remain two. This is simple Aristotelean logic: one is one, two are two, and if you say that two have become one, then they cannot remain two. And this is the problem – that love is both two and one simultaneously. If you are too much logic obsessed, love is not for you. But even an Aristotle falls in love, because logic is one thing, but nobody is ready to lose love for logic. Even an Aristotle falls in love, and even an Aristotle knows that there are points where mathematics is transcended – two become one and yet remain two.

This has been one of the problems for theologians all over the world, and they have discussed it for many centuries. No conclusion has been reached, because no conclusion can be reached through logic. Not only with lovers – the same is the problem with God. Whether the devotee becomes one or remains separate – the same problem. A bhakta, a devotee – whether he remains ultimately separate from his god or becomes one, the same problem.

Mohammedans insist that he remains separate, because if he becomes one then love cannot exist. When you have become one, who is going to love and whom? So Mohammedans pray, “Let me be separate so that I can love you. Let there be a gap so that devotees can be in prayer and love.” Hindus have said that the devotee becomes one with the divine, but then it’s a problem: if the devotee becomes one with the divine, then where is the devotion? where can the devotion exist? And if the devotee becomes the divine he becomes equal, so God is not higher than the devotee.

My attitude is this: just as it happens in love, it happens with the divine. You remain separate and yet you become one. You remain separate on the surface; in the depths you have become one. The devotee becomes the god and still remains the devotee. But then it is illogical. You can refute me very easily, you can argue against it very easily, but if you have loved you will understand.

And if you have not loved yet then don’t waste a single moment – be in love immediately, because life cannot give you a higher peak than love. And if you cannot achieve a natural peak that life offers to you, you cannot be capable, worthy, of achieving any other peaks which are not ordinarily available. Meditation is a higher peak than love. If you cannot love, are incapable of love, meditation is not for you.

It happened once, a man came to Ramanuja. Ramanuja was a mystic, a devotee mystic, a very unique person – a philosopher and yet a lover, a devotee. It rarely happens – a very acute mind, a very penetrating mind, but with a very overflowing heart. A man came and asked Ramanuja, “Show me the way towards the divine. How can I attain the God?”

So Ramanuja asked, “First let me ask a question. Have you ever loved anybody?”

The devotee must have been a really religious person. He said, “What are you talking about? Love? I am a celibate. I avoid women just as one should avoid diseases. I don’t look at them, I close my eyes.”

Ramanuja said, “Still, think a little. Move into the past, find out. Somewhere in your heart, has there ever been any flickering – even a small one – of love?”

The man said, “But I have come here to learn prayer, not to learn love. Teach me how to pray. You are talking about worldly things and I have heard that you are a great mystic saint. I have come here just to be led into the divine, not to talk about worldly things!”

Ramanuja is reported to have said . . . he even became very sad, and said to the man, “Then I cannot help you. If you have no experience of love then there is no possibility for any experience of prayer. So first go into the world and love, and when you have loved and you are enriched through it, then come to me – because only a lover can understand what prayer is. If you don’t know anything illogical through experience, you cannot understand. And love is prayer given by nature easily – you cannot attain even that. Prayer is love not given so easily, it is achieved only when you reach higher peaks of totality. Much effort is needed to achieve it. For love no effort is needed; it is available, it is flowing. You are resisting it.”

The same is the problem, and the problem arises because of our logical minds. Aristotle says, “a is a, b is b, and a cannot be b.” This is a simple logical process. If you ask the mystics, they say, “a is a, b is b but a also can be b, and b also can be a.” Life is not divided into solid blocks. Life is a flow, it transcends blocks. It moves from one pole to the other. Love is a relationship and yet not a relationship.

-Osho

From Vedanta: Seven Steps to Samadhi, Discourse #11, Q2

Copyright © OSHO International Foundation

For a related post see Q3, Your Intensity, Your Wholeness Is Your Witness.

An MP3 audio file of this discourse can be downloaded from Osho.com or you can read the entire book online at the Osho Library.

Many of Osho’s books are available in the U.S. online from Amazon.com and Viha Osho Book Distributors. In India they are available from Amazon.in and Oshoworld.com.

Your Intensity, Your Wholeness is Your Witness – Osho

Can one be absorbed in doing something – for instance, these dynamic mediation techniques – with absolute total intensity and at the same time remain a witness who is separate, apart?

The same is the problem in many forms. You think that a witness is something apart, separate. It is not. Your intensity, your wholeness, is your witness. So when you are witnessing and doing something you are not two – the doer is the witness.

For example, you are dancing here in kirtan. You are dancing: the dancer and the witness are not two, there is no separation. The separation is only in language. The dancer is the witness. And if the dancer is not the witness, then you cannot be total in the dance, because the witness will need some energy and you will have to divide yourself. A part will remain a witness and the remaining will move in the dance. It cannot be total; it will be divided. And this is not what is meant, because really this is the state of a schizophrenic patient – divided, split. It is pathological. If you become two you are ill. You must remain one. You must move totally into the dance, and your totality will become the witness. It is not going to be something set apart, your wholeness is aware. This happens.

So don’t try to divide yourself. While dancing become the dance. Just remain alert; don’t fall asleep, don’t be unconscious. You are not under a drug, you are alert, fully alert. But this alertness is not a part standing aloof; it is your totality, it is your whole being.

But this is again the same thing as whether two lovers are two or one. Only on the surface are they two, deep inside they are one. Only in language will you appear two, the dancer and the witness, but deep down you are the one. The whole dancer is alert. Then only peace, equilibrium, silence, will happen to you. If you are divided there will be tension, and that tension will not allow you to be totally here and now, to merge into existence.

So remember that, don’t try to divide. Become the dancer and still be aware. This happens. This I am saying through my experience. This I am saying through many others’ experience who have been working with me. This will happen to you also. This may have happened to many already. But remember this: don’t get split. Remain one and yet aware.

Enough for today.

-Osho

From Vedanta: Seven Steps to Samadhi, Discourse #11, Q3

Copyright © OSHO International Foundation

For a related post see Q2, Love Becomes the Door.

An MP3 audio file of this discourse can be downloaded from Osho.com or you can read the entire book online at the Osho Library.

Many of Osho’s books are available in the U.S. online from Amazon.com and Viha Osho Book Distributors. In India they are available from Amazon.in and Oshoworld.com.

 

 

 

Beyond the Gateless Gate: Transcending the Seven Bodies, Part 2 – Osho

Raja yoga begins with the fourth body. Only hatha yoga begins with the first body; other yogas begin from somewhere else. Theosophy begins from the second body, and other systems begin from the third. As civilization goes on progressing to the fourth body, many persons will be able to begin from there. But only if they have worked through the three lower bodies in their past lives can the fourth be used. Those who study raja yoga from scriptures or from swamis and gurus without knowing whether or not they have worked through their three lower bodies are bound to be disillusioned because one cannot begin from the fourth. The three must be crossed first. Only then does the fourth come.

The fourth is the last body that it is possible to begin from. There are four yogas: hatha yoga for the first body, mantra yoga for the second, bhakti yoga for the third, and raja yoga for the fourth. In ancient days, everybody had to begin with the first body, but now there are so many types of people: one has worked up to the second body in a previous life, another up to the third, et cetera. But as far as dreaming is concerned, one must begin from the first body. Only then can you know the whole range of it, the whole spectrum of it.

So in the fourth body, your consciousness must become like fire – going upward. There are many ways to check this. For example, if the mind is flowing toward sex it is just like water flowing downward, because the sex center is downward. In the fourth body one must begin directing the eyes up, not down.

If consciousness is to go upward, it must begin from a center that is above the eyes, not below the eyes. There is only one center above the eyes from which the movement can be upward: the ajna chakra. Now the two eyes must look upward toward the third eye.

The third eye has been remembered in so many ways. In India, the distinction between a virgin and a girl who is married is made by a color mark on the third eye of the married one. A virgin is bound to look downward toward the sex center, but the moment she is married she must begin to look upward. Sex must change from sexuality to beyond sexuality. To help her to remember to look upward, a color mark, a tilak, is used on the third eye.

Tilak marks have been used on the foreheads of so many types of persons: sannyasins, worshippers – so many types of color marks. Or it is possible to use chandan – sandalwood paste. The moment your two eyes look upward toward the third eye, a great fire is created at the center; a burning sensation is there. The third eye is beginning to open, and it must be kept cool. So in India, sandalwood paste is used. It is not only cool; it also has a particular perfume that is concerned with the third body and the transcendence of it. The coolness of the perfume, and the particular spot where it is placed, becomes an upward attraction, a remembrance of the third eye.

If you close your eyes and I place my finger at your third eye spot, I am not really touching your third eye itself, but you will still begin to feel it. Even this much pressure is enough. Scarcely a touch, just a gentle fingering. So the perfume, the delicate touch of it and its coolness, is enough. Then your attention is always flowing from your eyes to the third eye.

So to cross the fourth body there is only one technique, one method, and that is to look upward.

Shirshasan, the headstand, the reverse position of the body, was used as a method to do this because our eyes are ordinarily looking downward. If you stand on your head, you will still be looking downward, but now the downward is upward. The flow of your energy downward will be converted into an upward flow.

That is why in meditation, even without knowing it, some persons will go into reverse positions. They will begin to do shirshasan because the flow of energy has changed. Their minds are so conditioned to the downward flow that when the energy changes direction they will feel uncomfortable. When they begin to stand on their heads they will feel at ease again, because the flow of energy will again be moving downward. But it will not really be moving downward. In relation to your centers, your chakras, the energy will still be moving upward.

So shirshasan has been used as a method to take you from the fourth body to the fifth. The main thing to be remembered is to be looking upward. This can be done through tratak – staring at a fixed object, through concentration on the sun, through so many objects. But it is better to do it inwardly. Just close the eyes!

But first, the first four bodies must be crossed. Only then can it be helpful, otherwise not. Otherwise, it may be disturbing; it may create all sorts of mental diseases, because the whole adjustment of the system will be shattered. The four bodies are looking downward, and with your inner mind you are looking upward. Then, there is every possibility that schizophrenia will result.

To me, schizophrenia is the result of such a thing. That is why ordinary psychology cannot go deeply into schizophrenia. The schizophrenic mind is simultaneously working in opposite directions: standing outside and looking inside; standing outside and looking upward. Your whole system must be in harmony. If you have not known your physical body from the inside, then your consciousness should be facing downward. That will be healthy; the adjustment is right. You must never try to turn the outward moving mind upward or schizophrenia, division, will be the result.

Our civilizations, our religions, have been the basic cause for humanity’s split personality. They have not been concerned with the total harmony. There are teachers who teach methods to move upward to persons who are not even inside their own physical body. The method begins to work and part of the person remains outside his body while a second part moves upward. Then there will be a split between the two. He will become two persons: sometimes this, sometimes that; a Jekyll and Hyde.

There is every possibility that a person can become seven people simultaneously. Then the split is complete. He has become seven different energies. One part of him is moving downward, clinging to the first body; another is clinging to the second; another to the third. One part is going upward; another is going somewhere else. He has no center in him at all.

Gurdjieff used to say that such a person is just like a house where the master is absent, and every servant claims he is the master. And no one can deny it, because the master himself is absent. When anybody comes to the house and knocks on the door, the servant who is nearby becomes the master. The next day, another servant answers the door and claims to be the master.

A schizophrenic is without any center. And we are all like that! We have adjusted ourselves to society, that’s all. The difference is only of degrees. The master is absent or asleep, and every part of us claims ownership. When the sex urge is there, sex becomes the master. Your mortality, your family, your religion – everything will be denied. Sex becomes the total owner of the house. And then, when sex has gone, frustration follows. Your reason takes charge and says, “I am the master.” Now reason will claim the whole house and will deny sex a home.

Everybody claims the house totally. When anger is there, it becomes the master. Now there is no reason, no consciousness. Nothing else can interfere with the anger. Because of this, we cannot understand others. A person who was loving becomes angry, and suddenly there is no love. We are at a loss now to understand whether he is loving or not loving. The love was just a servant, and the anger too is just a servant. The master is absent. That is why you cannot ordinarily rely on anybody else. He is not master of himself; any servant can take over. He is no one; he is not a unity.

What I am saying is that one should not experiment with techniques of looking upward before crossing the first four bodies. Otherwise, a split will be created which will be impossible to bridge, and one will have to wait for one’s next life to begin again. It is better to practice techniques that begin from the beginning. If you have passed your first three bodies in past births, then you will pass them again within a moment. There will be no difficulty. You know the territory; you know the way. In a moment, they come before you. You recognize them – and you have passed them! Then you can go further. So my insistence is always to begin from the first body. For everyone!

To move from the fourth body is the most significant thing. Up to the fourth body you are human.  Now you become superhuman. In the first body you are just an animal. Only with the second body does humanity come into being. And only in the fourth does it flower completely. Civilization has never gone beyond the fourth. Beyond the fourth is beyond the human. We cannot classify Christ as a human being. A Buddha, a Mahavira, a Krishna, are beyond the human. They are superhuman.

The upward look is a jump from the fourth body. When I am looking at my first body from outside it, I am just an animal with the possibility of being human. The only difference is that I can become human and the animal cannot. As far as the present situation is concerned, we are both below humanity, subhuman. But I have a possibility to go beyond. And from the second body onward, the flowering of the human being happens.

Even someone in the fourth body looks superhuman to us. They are not. An Einstein or a Voltaire looks superhuman, but they are not. They are the complete flowering of the human being and we are below human, so they are above us. But they are not above the human. Only a Buddha, a Christ or a Zarathustra is more than human. By looking upward, by raising their consciousness upward from the fourth body, they have crossed the boundary of the mind; they have transcended the mental body.

There are parables worth our understanding. Mohammed, looking upward, says that something has come to him from above. We interpret this above geographically, so the sky becomes the abode of the gods. For us, upward means the sky; downward means the layer below the earth. But if we interpret it in this way, the symbol has not been understood. When Mohammed is looking upward he is not looking toward the sky; he is looking toward the ajna chakra. When he says that something has come to him from above, his feeling is right. But, ‘up’ has a different meaning for us.

In every picture, Zarathustra is looking upward. His eyes are never downward. He was looking upward when he first saw the divine. The divine came to him as fire. That is why the Persians have been fire worshippers. This feeling of fire comes from the ajna chakra. When you look upward, the spot feels fiery, as if everything is burning. Because of that burning, you are transformed. The lower being is burnt, it ceases to be, and the upper being is born. That is the meaning of “passing through fire.”

After the fifth body you move into still another realm, another dimension. From the first body to the fourth body the movement is from outside to inside; from the fourth to the fifth it is from downward to upward; from the fifth it is from ego to non-ego. Now the dimension is different. There is no question of outside, inside, upward or downward. The question is of “I” and “non-I.” The question is now concerned with whether there is a center or not.

A person is without any center up to the fifth – split in different parts. Only for the fifth body is there a center: a unity, oneness. But the center becomes the ego. Now this center will be a hindrance for further progress. Every step that was a help becomes a hindrance for further progress. You have to leave every bridge you cross. It was helpful in crossing, but it will become a hindrance if you cling to it.

Up to the fifth body, a center has to be created. Gurdjieff says this fifth center is the crystallization.

Now there are no servants; the master has taken charge. Now the master is the master. He is awakened; he has come back. When the master is present, the servants subside; they become silent.

So when you enter the fifth body, crystallization of the ego happens. But now, for further progress, this crystallization must be lost again. Lost into the void, into the cosmic. Only one who has can lose, so to talk about egolessness before the fifth body is nonsense, absurd. You do not have an ego, so how can you lose it? Or you can say that you have many egos, every servant has an ego. You are multi-egoistic, a multi-personality, a multi-psyche, but not a unified ego.

You cannot lose the ego because you do not have it. A rich man can renounce his riches, but not a poor one. He has nothing to renounce, nothing to lose. But there are poor people who think about renunciation. A rich person is afraid of renunciation because he has something to lose, but a poor one is always ready to renounce. He is ready, but he has nothing to renounce.

The fifth body is the richest. It is the culmination of all that is possible for a human being. The fifth is the peak of individuality, the peak of love, of compassion, of everything that is worthwhile. The thorns have been lost. Now, the flower too must be lost. Then there will simply be perfume, no flower.

The sixth is the realm of perfume, cosmic perfume. No flower, no center. A circumference, but no center. You can say that everything has become a center, or that now there is no center. Just a diffused feeling is there. There is no split, no division – not even the division of the individual into the “I” and the “non-I,” the “I” and “the other.” There is no division at all.

So the individual can be lost in either of two ways: one, schizophrenic, splitting into many sub persons; and another, cosmic – lost into the ultimate; lost into the greater, the greatest, the Brahma; lost into the expanse. Now the flower is not, but the perfume is.

The flower too is a disturbance, but when only the perfume is, it is perfect. Now there is no source, so it cannot die. It is undying. Everything that has a source will die, but now the flower is not, so there is no source. The perfume is uncaused, so there is no death and no boundary to it. A flower has limitations; perfume is unlimited. There is no barrier to it. It goes on and on, and goes beyond.

So from the fifth body the question is not of upward, downward, sideways, inside, outside. The question is whether to be with an ego or without an ego. And the ego is the most difficult thing of all to lose. The ego is not a problem up to the fifth body because progress is ego-fulfilling. No one wants to be schizophrenic; everyone would prefer to have a crystallized personality. So every sadhaka, every seeker, can progress to the fifth body.

There is no method to move beyond the fifth body because every type of method is bound with the ego. The moment you use a method, the ego is strengthened. So those who are concerned with going beyond the fifth, talk of no-method. They talk of methodlessness, of no-technique. Now there is no how. From the fifth, there is no method possible.

You can use a method up to the fifth, but then no method will be of use because the user is to be lost. If you use anything, the user will become stronger. His ego will go on crystallizing; it will become a nucleus of crystallization. That is why those who have remained in the fifth body say there are infinite souls, infinite spirits. They think of each spirit as if it were an atom. Two atoms cannot meet. They are windowless, doorless; closed to everything outside themselves. Ego is windowless. You can use a word of Leibnitz: ‘monads’. Those who remain in the fifth body become monads: windowless atoms. Now you are alone, and alone, and alone.

But this crystallized ego has to be lost. How to lose it when there is no method? How to go beyond it when there is no path? How to escape from it? There is no door. Zen monks talk about the gateless gate. Now there is no gate, and still one has to go beyond it.

So what to do? The first thing: do not be identified with this crystallization. Just be aware of this closed house of “I.” Just be aware of it – don’t do anything – and there is an explosion! You will be beyond it.

They have a parable in Zen….

A goose egg is put in a bottle. The goose comes out of the egg and begins to grow, but the mouth of the bottle is so small that the goose cannot come out of the bottle. It grows bigger and bigger, and the bottle becomes too small to live in. Now, either the bottle will have to be destroyed to save the goose, or the goose will die. Seekers are asked: “What is to be done? We do not want to lose either. The goose is to be saved and the bottle also. So what to do?” This is the question of the fifth body. When there is no way out and the goose is growing, when the crystallization has become consolidated, what to do now?

The seeker goes inside a room, closes the door and begins to puzzle over it. What to do? Only two things seem to be possible: either to destroy the bottle and save the goose, or to let the goose die and save the bottle. The meditator goes on thinking and thinking. He thinks of something, but then it will be cancelled because there is no way to do it. The teacher sends him back to think some more.

For many nights and many days the seeker goes on thinking, but there is no way to do it. Finally, a moment comes when thinking ceases. He runs out shouting, “Eureka! The goose is out!” The teacher never asks how, because the whole thing is just nonsense.

So to move from the fifth body, the problem becomes a Zen koan. One should just be aware of the crystallization – and the goose is out! A moment comes when you are out; there is no “I.” The crystallization has been gained and lost. For the fifth, crystallization – the center, the ego – was essential. As a passage, as a bridge, it was a necessity; otherwise, the fifth body could not be crossed. But now it is no longer needed.

There are persons who have achieved the fifth without passing through the fourth. A person who has many riches has achieved the fifth; he has crystallized in a way. A person who has become president of a country has crystallized in a way. A Hitler, a Mussolini, is crystallized in a way. But the crystallization is in the fifth body. If the four lower bodies are not in accordance with it, then the crystallization becomes a disease. Mahavira and Buddha are crystallized too, but their crystallization is different.

We all long to fulfill the ego because of an innermost need to reach the fifth body. But if we choose a shortcut, then in the end we will be lost. The shortest way is through riches, power, politics. The ego can be achieved, but it is a false crystallization; it is not in accordance with your total personality. It is like a corn that forms on your foot and becomes crystallized. It is a false crystallization, an abnormal growth, a disease.

If the goose is out in the fifth, you are in the sixth. From the fifth to the sixth is the realm of mystery. Up to the fifth, scientific methods can be used, so yoga is helpful. But after that it is meaningless, because yoga is a methodology, a scientific technique.

In the fifth, Zen is very helpful. It is a method to go from the fifth to the sixth. Zen flowered in Japan but it began in India. Its roots came from Yoga. Yoga flowered into Zen.

Zen has had much appeal in the West because the Western ego is, in a sense, crystallized. In the West, they are the masters of the world; they have everything. But the ego has become crystallized through the wrong process. It has not developed through the transcendence of the first four bodies.

So Zen has become appealing to the West but it will not help because the crystallization is wrong.

Gurdjieff is much more helpful to the West because he works from the first body to the fifth. He is not helpful beyond the fifth, only up to the fifth, to the crystallization. Through his techniques, you can achieve a proper crystallization.

Zen has been just a fad in the West because it has no roots there. It developed through a very long process in the East, beginning with hatha yoga and culminating in the Buddha. Thousands and thousands of years of humbleness: not of ego but of passivity; not of positive action but of receptivity – through a long duration of the female mind, the receptive mind. The East has always been female, while the West is male: aggressive, positive. The East has been an openness, a receptivity. Zen could be of help in the East because other methods, other systems, worked on the four lower bodies.

These four became the roots, and Zen could flower.

Today, Zen has become almost meaningless in Japan. The reason is that Japan has become absolutely Western. Once the Japanese were the most humble people, but now their humbleness is just a show. It is no longer part of their innermost core. So Zen has been uprooted in Japan and is popular now in the West. But this popularity is only because of the false crystallization of the ego.

From the fifth body to the sixth, Zen is very helpful; but only then, neither before nor beyond. It is absolutely useless for the other bodies, even harmful. To teach university level courses in the primary school not only does not help; it may be harmful.

If Zen is used before the fifth body you may experience satori, but that is not samadhi. Satori is a false samadhi. It is a glimpse of samadhi, but it is just a glimpse. As far as the fourth body – the mental body – is concerned, satori will make you more artistic, more aesthetic. It will create a sense of beauty in you; it will create a feeling of well-being. But it will not be a help in crystallization. It will not help you to move from the fourth body to the fifth.

Only beyond crystallization is Zen helpful. The goose is out of the bottle, without any how. But only at this point can it be practiced, after so many other methods have been used. A painter can paint with closed eyes; he can paint as if it is a game. An actor can act as if he is not acting. In fact, the acting becomes perfect only when it does not look like acting. But many years of labor have gone into it, many years of practice. Now the actor is completely at ease, but that at-easeness is not achieved in a day. It has its own methods.

We walk, but we never know how we do it. If someone asks you how you walk you say, “I just walk. There is no how to it.” But the how takes place when a child begins to walk. He learns. If you were to tell the child that walking needs no method – “you just walk!” – It would be nonsense. The child would not understand it. Krishnamurti has been talking this way, talking with adults who have children’s minds, saying, “You can walk. You just walk!” People listen. They are charmed. Easy! To walk without any method. Then, everyone can walk.

Krishnamurti too has become attractive in the West, and just because of this. If you look at hatha yoga or mantra yoga or bhakti yoga or raja yoga or tantra, it looks so long, so arduous, so difficult. Centuries of labor are needed, births and births. They cannot wait. Some shortcut, something instantaneous must be there. So Krishnamurti appeals to them. He says, “You just walk. You walk into God. There is no method.” But no-method is the most arduous thing to achieve. To act as if one is not acting, to speak as if one is not speaking, to walk effortlessly as if one is not walking, is based on long effort.

Labor and effort are necessary; they are needed. But they have a limitation. They are needed up to the fifth body, but they are useless from the fifth to the sixth. You will go nowhere; the goose will never be out.

That is the problem with Indian yogis. They find it difficult to cross the fifth because they are method-enchanted, method-hypnotized. They have always worked with method. There has been a clear-cut science up to the fifth and they progressed with ease. It was an effort – and they could do it! No matter how much intensity was needed, it was no problem to them. No matter how much effort, they could supply it. But now in the fifth, they have to cross from the realm of method to no-method. Now they are at a loss. They sit down, they stop. And for so many seekers, the fifth becomes the end.

That is why there is talk of five bodies, not seven. Those who have gone only to the fifth think that it is the end. It is not the end; it is a new beginning. Now one must move from the individual to the non-individual. Zen, or methods like Zen, done effortlessly, can be helpful.

Zazen means just sitting, doing nothing. A person who has done much cannot conceive of this. Just sitting and doing nothing! It is inconceivable. A Gandhi cannot conceive of it. He says, “I will spin my wheel. Something must be done. This is my prayer, my meditation.” Non-doing to him means doing nothing. Non-doing has its own realm, its own bliss, its own adjustment, but that is from the fifth body to the sixth. It cannot be understood before that.

From the sixth to the seventh, there is not even no-method. Method is lost in the fifth, and no-method is lost in the sixth. One day you simply find that you are in the seventh. Even the cosmos has gone; only nothingness is. It just happens. It is a happening from the sixth to the seventh. Un-caused, unknown.

Only when it is un-caused does it become discontinuous with what went before. If it is caused then there is a continuity and the being cannot be lost, even in the seventh. The seventh is total non-being: nirvana, emptiness, non-existence.

There is no possibility of any continuity in moving from existence to non-existence. It is just a jump, un-caused. If it were caused there would be a continuity, and it would be just like the sixth body. So to move from the sixth body to the seventh cannot even be talked about. It is a discontinuity, a gap. Something was, and something now is – and there is no connection between the two. Something has just ceased, and something has just come in. There is no relationship between them. It is as if a guest has left from one door and another guest has entered from the other side.

There is no relationship between the going of one and the coming of the other. They are unrelated.

The seventh body is the ultimate, because now you have crossed even the world of causation. You have gone to the original source, to that which was before creation and that which will be after annihilation. So from the sixth to the seventh there is not even no-method. Nothing is of any help; everything can be a hindrance. From the cosmic to nothingness there is just a happening: uncaused, unprepared for, unasked for.

It happens instantaneously. Only one thing is to be remembered: you must not cling to the sixth. Clinging will prevent you from moving to the seventh. There is no positive way to move to the seventh, but there can be a negative hindrance. You can cling to the Brahma, the cosmos. You can say, “I have reached!” Those who say they have reached cannot go to the seventh.

Those who say, “I have known,” remain in the sixth. So those who wrote the Vedas remained in the sixth. Only a Buddha crosses the sixth because he says, “I do not know.” He refuses to give answers to the ultimate questions. He says, “No one knows. No one has known.” Buddha could not be understood. Those who heard him said, “No, our teachers have known. They say Brahma is.”

But Buddha is talking of the seventh body. No teacher can say he has known about the seventh because the moment you say it you lose touch with it. Once you have known it, you cannot say. Up to the sixth body symbols can be expressive, but there is no symbol for the seventh. It is just an emptiness.

There is a temple in China that is totally empty. There is nothing in it: no image, no scriptures, nothing. It is just bare, naked walls. Even the priest resides outside. He says, “A priest can only be outside the temple; he cannot be inside.” If you ask the priest where the deity of the temple is, he will say, “See it!” – And there is emptiness; there is no one. He will say, “See! Here! Now!” and there is only a naked, bare, empty temple.

If you look for objects then you cannot cross the sixth to the seventh. So there are negative preparations. A negative mind is needed, a mind that is not longing for anything – not even moksha, not even deliverance, not even nirvana, not even truth; a mind that is not waiting for anything – not even for God, for Brahma. It just is, without any longing, without any desire, without any wish. Just is-ness. Then, it happens . . . and even the cosmos is gone.

So you can cross into the seventh by and by. Begin from the physical and work through the etheric; then the astral, the mental, the spiritual. Up to the fifth you can work and then, from the fifth on, just be aware. Doing is not important then; consciousness is important. And finally, from the sixth to the seventh, even consciousness is not important. Only is-ness, being. This is the potentiality of our seeds. This is our possibility.

-Osho

From The Psychology of the Esoteric, Discourse #7, Part 2

Copyright © OSHO International Foundation

For related posts see:

From the Many to the One, Transcending the Seven Bodies, Part 1

Also see: The Mysteries of the Seven Bodies

An MP3 audio file of this discourse can be downloaded from Osho.com or you can read the entire book online at the Osho Library.

Many of Osho’s books are available in the U.S. online from Amazon.com and Viha Osho Book Distributors. In India they are available from Amazon.in and Oshoworld.com.

The Art of Dying – Osho

In this seventh stage, the state of videhamukti, liberation while living in the body is achieved. This stage is totally silent and cannot be communicated in words. It is the end of all stages, where all the processes of yoga come to their conclusion. In this stage, all activities – worldly, bodily, and scriptural – cease. The whole universe in the form of the world – viswa, intelligence – prajna, and radiance – tejas, is just aum. There is no division here between speech and the speaker. If however, any such division remains, the state has not been attained. The first sound ‘a’ of aum, stands for the world, the second ‘u’ for radiance and the third ‘m’ for intelligence.

Before entering samadhi, the seeker should contemplate on aum most strenuously, and subsequently he should surrender everything, from gross to subtle to the conscious self. Taking the conscious self as his own self, he should consolidate this feeling: I am eternal, pure, enlightened, free, existential, incomparable, the most blissful Vasudev and Pranava himself.

Since the whole visible world comprising a beginning, a middle, and an end, is sorrow-stricken, he must renounce everything and merge into the supreme. He should feel that he is blissful, taintless, without ignorance, without appearance, inexpressible in words, and that he is Brahman, the essence of knowledge.

This is the Upanishadic mystery.

-Akshi Upanishad

The first three stages are just like the waking state of the mind, the surface of your personality – just a fragment, the part where waves exist. The fourth and the fifth stages are deeper than the surface. They are like the dream state of the mind, where for the first time you are no longer in contact with the outer world. The outer world has ceased to be, you live only in your dreams. You enter subjectivity. The objects have disappeared, only the subject has remained.

The sixth stage is still deeper, just like the dreamless sleep – the third state of mind – where even dreams cease to be. Objects have disappeared, now subjects also disappear. The world is no more, even the reflections of the world in the mind are no more. You are fast asleep with no disturbance, not a single ripple. These are the three stages of the mind, and parallel stages to these the seeker has to pass through on the spiritual path also.

The seventh is like the fourth. The Upanishads have not given it any name, because no name can be given to it. The first is waking, the second dreaming, the third sleep – but the fourth has been left simply as the fourth, without giving it any name. It is symbolic. The Upanishads call it turiya. The word turiya means simply the fourth, it doesn’t say anything more. It is nameless because it cannot be defined. Words cannot express it, it can only be indicated. Even that indication has to be negative. It can be experienced but not formulated in concepts, hence it is called the fourth. The seventh stage of the seeker’s consciousness is like the fourth stage of the mind.

Before we enter into the seventh stage and try to penetrate its mysteries, a few things will help to create the base for the understanding of something which is the most difficult to understand. First, the six are stages, but the seventh is really not a stage. It is called a stage because there is no other way to call it, but the seventh is not a stage. The six are stages, the seventh you are. The seventh is not a stage, it is your very nature; it is you, your being.

For example, you were a child once; childhood was a stage. You were not childhood, you passed through childhood. It was a station, a stage, a phase, but you were not identified with it. If you were the childhood itself, then there would have been no possibility of becoming a youth. Who would have become a youth? The child could not have become a youth, the child would have remained the child. But you were not the child. You passed through childhood; you became a youth. Then youth is again a stage, you are not one with it. If you are one with it you could not have been a child and you cannot grow old. You will pass through it also; it is a phase.

So this is the definition of a stage: you come into it, you pass through it, you go beyond it – but you are not it. Then you will become old, that too is a stage. You will pass into death. Birth is a stage; death is a stage. One who passes through all these stages . . . The being, the life force, the energy that you are, the consciousness that you are – that one is not a stage because you can never pass through it, you can never go beyond it. That is not a stage, that is your very nature; that you are. So the seventh is not a stage. It is called a stage because there is no other way of talking about it. Six are stages, the seventh is the one who passes through these stages. The seventh is your very nature. This is the first thing.

The second thing, all the six can be described, they have a defined nature. You enter into them, they have a beginning; you pass through them, they have a middle; you finish with them, they have an end – they can be defined. Anything which has a beginning, a middle and an end can be defined, but you – you are indefinable. You don’t have any beginning, you don’t have any middle, you don’t have any end. You never begin, you will never end. You are the eternal. The life energy that exists in you has always been in existence, will always be so. There was never a time when you were not, and there will never be a time when you will not be. You will always be, you are nontemporal.

The temporal can be defined through time. The nontemporal cannot be defined, it is timeless. Just as you are nontemporal you are nonspatial also. You exist in this space you call your body, but you have existed in many spaces, […] many types of bodies – sometimes a tree, sometimes a bird, sometimes an animal.

Hindus say that there are eight hundred and forty million types of existence, lives, and a man is born only when he has passed through eight hundred and forty million spaces. In the beginning Westerners used to laugh about this – such a great number! There seemed no possibility that eight hundred and forty million life forms exist. But now biologists say that this is almost the exact number, almost exactly this many species exist. And this is a miracle! How could Hindus fall upon this number? . . . because they had no biological research, they had known no Darwin, no Huxley. They must have come to this number through some other way. They say that they have come to this number through those who have remembered their past lives – Buddhas, Mahaviras, who could remember all the past lives.

Eight hundred and forty million is a very big number. And that’s why Hindus say that once you are born a man, don’t waste this life, because it is so precious, you have struggled for it for so long, for millions of lives you have waited for it. And for what are you wasting it – food, drink, sex? Eight hundred and forty million lives spent waiting for this life, and then wasting this life in futile things!

You were in many spaces, so you are not confined to space. If you can be an elephant, then a tiger, then a bird flying in the sky, then a small ant, and then you can be a man, that means that no space contains you. You can pass through many types of bodies, but you are bodiless. If you are bodiless, if consciousness is a bodiless phenomenon, then you are nonspatial. And these two things, time and space, are very, very insignificant.

Physicists say that existence consists of two elements: time and space. And Einstein turned even these two into one. He said that these are not two. So he used to call it spatiotime – one word, not two. He used to say that there is not space and time, there is only spacetime, and space is nothing but the fourth dimension of time. Hindus say that you are neither in space nor in time; you pass through them but you are not them, you may be in them but you are not them. You pass through them, you go beyond; you enter, you come out. Space and time is your temporal abode, it is not you – hence transcendence is possible, you can go beyond both.

Somebody asked Jesus, “Tell us something about your kingdom of God, something special which will be there, some main characteristic.”

Jesus answered in a very strange way, he said a very strange thing. He said, “There shall be time no longer.” Hindus have always been saying that – but not only about time. They say there will be time no longer, there will be space no longer, because time and space are really not two things, they are one.

And this you can feel even in deep meditation. The deeper you move the less time will be. You are not aware of how much time has passed – as if time is just on the surface. The more inwards you move, the further and further away time goes. Then a moment comes when there is no time. And the same happens to space: the more inward you move the more you go on forgetting where you are. When you move more inward then you forget whether you are confined in a body or not. When you reach to the innermost center there is no time and no space, you simply exist without any boundary of time or space. Because you are not confined in any way you cannot be defined. Things which are limited and confined can be defined. So the seventh stage, or the seventh no-stage, is indefinable.

The third thing. About the six there is not much mystery, reason can understand them; they are rational in a way, you can argue about them. The seventh is total mystery, absolute mystery. We must understand what mystery is, because this Upanishad ends on the word mystery. What is a mystery? The mystery is that phenomenon which exists but has no cause to exist, the mystery is a phenomenon which is there but is paradoxical, contradictory, the mystery is that phenomenon which is not only unknown but unknowable. […]

Religion says, that the substratum of existence is unknowable. Whatsoever you do is irrelevant it will remain unknowable; it cannot be reduced to history. Why? Religion has a point, and that point is: How can a part know the whole? Man is just a part; how can the part know the whole? Man is just a by-product of this existence, just a throbbing of this existence. How can this throbbing know the whole? Your heart throbs, beats; how can the beats of the heart know you, the whole?

The part cannot know the whole, and the whole is vast, really infinite. You cannot conceive of any end to the universe, there can be no boundary to it – or can there be? Can you conceive of any boundary to existence? How will you conceive the boundary? – because a boundary needs two. Your house has a boundary because of your neighbor, the earth has a boundary because of space. The other is needed for the boundary. If there is only one it cannot be bounded, because who will bound it?

The existence is one; then it cannot be bounded, there can be no boundary. If you stand on the boundary, what will you see? If you can see anything beyond, this is not the boundary. Even if you can see emptiness ahead then that emptiness is there. Can you conceive of a point in existence where a scientist can stand and there is nothing? But Hindus say that even nothing is something. If you can say that there is nothing then space exists, you will have to move ahead. There cannot come a point where you can say, “Existence ends here!” It cannot end, it cannot have any boundary. The whole is infinite. And you can know something which is finite, you cannot know the infinite. The mystery will remain.

Secondly, man is part, he is not apart from existence. You cannot kiss your own lips – or can you? You will need somebody else’s lips to kiss, you cannot kiss your own. Man is part of this whole. To know this whole, you will need to be apart, you will have to be separate; the knower must be separate from the known, only then knowledge is possible. The knower is not separate. The existence flows in you, you are just a wave. The existence trees in the trees, it waves in the waves, it mans in you. As it trees the earth, so it mans the earth. ‘Manning’, if I can coin a new word, manning is just like waving; it is a process. You are not apart from it, not separate.

You cannot kiss your own lips, religion says, hence the mystery. And the more science progresses the more religion is proved right. A few days before Einstein died, he asserted, “When I started my journey on the scientific path I was certain that the universe can be known, but now I am not so certain. On the contrary, my uncertainty has been growing every day, and I feel that it is impossible to know the existence in its totality. It is a mystery.” […]

And that has been the feeling of all individual scientists – not of science, but individual scientists. Science as a body remains adamant, goes on saying that there can be no mystery, and if there is it is only a question of time and we will dissolve it. So the effort of science is to demystify the universe. That may be one of the reasons why people are so unhappy today. That may be one of the basic reasons why people are so bored, that may be one of the basic reasons why people are feeling so meaningless – because without mystery there can be no meaning in life.

If everything is explained then everything is explained away, if everything is known then there is nothing worthwhile, if everything becomes just factual you are finished with it. Just go to a biologist and ask him what love is or go to a chemist and ask him what love is. He will explain to you the whole mystery, he will talk of hormones, secretions of certain chemicals in the body, and he will say, “You are just a fool! Love is nothing. It is just a question of certain chemicals flowing in the bloodstream.”

He can explain everything about love, and when he explains everything about love then all your Kalidases and Shakespeares and Byrons will look stupid – because he can explain. But this same man who is explaining will fall in love. He will sit with a woman under the sky and then start talking poetry. This is the mystery. Life remains alive for mystery. And it is a good sign that even a scientist can fall in love, and a few great scientists sometimes even write poetry. This is a good sign. Man can still survive – there is a possibility, we can hope; otherwise, everything explained, poetry dies.

This age is very nonpoetic. Even poets write things which are facts, not mysteries; they talk about mundane things in their poetry. The poetry that has been created in this age is not very poetic, it is more prose than poetry. There is no music in it, because music can come only through mystery. Something unknowable throbs around you; you become part of that unknown mystery, you dissolve into it, become a drop in the ocean.

That’s why children are so happy, old men so unhappy. The reason is that the old man knows more – he has explained many things, more facts are known to him – and children are ignorant, more mystery is around them. That’s why even in old age you go on thinking that childhood was the golden period, the real paradise.

Why is childhood so paradise-like? – because the child exists in mystery. Everything is mysterious – even the shade of a tree moving with the sun is so mysterious, so poetic. An ordinary flower, maybe a grass flower, is so mysterious because the whole life is expressed through it. A breeze blowing in the tree and creating rhythmic sounds, echoes in the valley, reflections in the water . . . Everything is mysterious for a child, nothing is known. He is happy. Remember this, your happiness will be in the same proportion as your mystery – less mystery, less happiness, more mystery, more happiness.

This Upanishad ends with the word mystery. Make that word mystery a secret in your heart, and try to live in such a way that nothing is reduced to facts and even facts become just doors for more mysteries. And unless you can turn facts into mysteries you will not become religious. So I can conclude, a scientist goes on reducing mystery to facts, and a religious man goes on changing facts into mysteries.

The world was happier when it was religious. It was less affluent, it was poorer, food was scarce, wealth was not there; everything was just poor, poverty existed – but people were happier . . . because you cannot live by bread alone. They lived through mystery. Everything they saw they treated as poetry of life. All these Upanishads are written in poetry. If life can appear to you not like prose but like poetry, a song, a bird in flight always towards the unknown . . . only then will religious consciousness dawn upon you.

Now we will enter the sutra.

In the seventh stage, the state of videhamukti, liberation while living in the body achieved.

The Upanishads divide liberation in two. One, liberation while you are in the body. That is called videhamukti, liberation while in the body. And then the ultimate liberation when this body dissolves and you no longer enter into another body, you remain bodiless. So liberation with the body and bodiless liberation. Buddhists have used two words: nirvana, and mahanirvana. Nirvana means liberation in the body, and mahanirvana means liberation from the body also – freed from all embodiments, bodiless consciousness. Then you have become cosmos.

The seventh stage is of videhamukti. You are living in the body, but living in the body you are no longer the body; the body has become just an abode, a house or your clothes. You are no longer attached to it in any way. You use it, you live in it, you take care of it, but you are no longer concerned, no longer afraid that if the body dies you will die. Now you know you are deathless; only the body can die, never you. You are not identified with the body, that is the liberation – videhamukti.

This stage is totally silent and cannot be communicated in words.

A person who exists in this stage remains inwardly totally silent. There is no inner talk, he never talks with himself. Really, to talk with oneself is a sort of insanity. If you see a man sitting outside alone talking, you will think he is mad. But you are also doing the same, only less loudly. He is a little more daring, that’s all. You also go on talking within; continuously the inner talk is there, not for a single moment do you stop. Your mind is a marketplace – so many voices, crowded – and it goes on and on and on. And look, observe what goes on there: just futile things, absurd, senseless, with no rhyme or reason. You are just flooded.

In the seventh stage the inner world becomes totally liberated from inner talk, everything is silent within. You can talk, but only with someone else, not with yourself. In that stage Buddha speaks, but he never speaks with himself. Buddha speaks to others, but that speech is qualitatively different from yours. Look! Whenever you are talking with others, then too the other is just an excuse – you continue your inner talk. Observe people talking. When you are talking with someone else you are not really talking with someone else, you go on talking within. You just catch some words from the other, and then you hang your inner talk on those words and continue. […]

Look at two persons discussing anything, they are never talking about the same thing. Ninety-nine percent of debates and discussions are just mad; people are not talking about the same thing, they are not using the words in the same way, they are not communicating at all. Just look at a wife and husband talking, they are not communicating at all. The husband is saying something, and he goes on saying, “You are not understanding me.” And the wife goes on saying something else, and she also says, “You are not understanding me, you don’t understand what I am saying.”

Nobody understands anybody. You cannot understand because understanding can flower only in inner silence, it cannot flower while you are talking in words. So you are not listening to the other at all. The mind cannot do two things simultaneously – you can listen to yourself or the other. Communication has become such a great problem, everybody feels that one cannot relate. What is the problem? Why can’t you relate with the other? – because you are relating with yourself.

A man who has attained the seventh stage is silent inwardly. He can listen, he can communicate, he can relate, he can answer. In India this was taken as a basic condition: one should not start preaching unless one has attained the inner silence . . . because if somebody starts teaching, advising, and his inner talk has not stopped, he is going to create more mischief in the world than there already is. He will be destructive. He cannot help anybody; he is not interested really in helping anybody. He is not interested in giving advice, he is interested only in bringing his inner talk out in the name of giving advice. He is throwing his rubbish on others, he is using you, your mind. He is too burdened, he shares only his burden with you. He may feel a little relief, but for his relief he has created much mischief all around.

Political leaders, social reformers, so-called revolutionaries, they all belong to this category. They go on throwing rubbish on more and more people. And if you go on insisting and telling people something, it is possible they may start believing, because belief is created by constant repetition. […]

In India it has been one of the basic laws that one should not start teaching people unless one becomes inwardly totally silent. When dreams have stopped, only then should one start advising anybody. If you still have dreams don’t advise anybody, because you are still in a state of dreaming. Your advice is of no use, you will create more mischief and misery for others. If somebody follows your advice he will be in danger.

Fortunately, nobody follows anybody’s advice. They say that advice is the thing which everybody gives wholeheartedly, without any cause, but which nobody takes. It is good, fortunate, that nobody takes anybody’s advice, otherwise the world would be in more misery, because the advisor – not the advice, but the advisor – is significant.

This stage is totally silent.

And because it is totally silent it cannot be communicated in words. It can be indicated; that is all that can be done, and that is what this sutra is going to do.

It is the end of all stages, where all the processes of yoga have come to their conclusion. In this stage all activities – worldly, bodily, scriptural – cease.

In this stage there is no activity – activity as action, by effort. The person who has achieved the seventh stage leaves all activities. That doesn’t mean that he will not do anything, but now he will be spontaneous. He will not be active; he will be spontaneous. He will move like a wind. Whatsoever happens will happen; whatsoever doesn’t happen, he will not think about it happening. He will become a flow. Now he will not force anything. That’s the meaning that he will not be active.

Buddha was active. After he attained enlightenment, for forty years he was active, but that activity was not activity, he was spontaneous. He moved, but with no conscious effort on his part, as if the existence was moving him, he had become just a passage, a passive vehicle. If life wanted to move through him it would move, if it didn’t want it was okay. He had no mind to do anything. Many things would happen, and really only in such a state do many things happen that are wonderful, that are mysterious.

When you are not the doer, then you become capable of receiving existence. This is what is meant by Jesus’ saying, “Not I, but he, lives in me. My father lives in me.” Jesus is a vehicle, Mahavira is a vehicle, Krishna is a vehicle – just passages. The total can move through them, they don’t create any hindrance, they don’t change in any way. They have no will of their own, no mind of their own.

The whole universe in the form of the world – viswa, intelligence – prajna, and radiance – tejas, is just aum.

In this seventh stage of consciousness the person has really dissolved and become the whole universe, he has become Aum. This word aum is very symbolic. First, this word aum consists of three sounds: a, u, m. These three sounds are the basic sounds, all the sounds are created out of them. All the languages, all the words, are created out of these three sounds: a, u, m. And this is not a myth, now phonetics agrees that these are the basic root sounds. And the word aum is meaningless, it is simply a combination of all the three basic sounds.

Hindus say that aum is the sound of existence, and then it divides in three: a, u, m, and then the three become many. From one, three; from three, many and millions. Now even science agrees that there is only one energy in existence; that one energy is divided in three. You may call it electron, proton and neutron; you may call it a, u, m; you may call it the Christian trinity: God, the Son, the Holy Ghost; you may call it the Hindu trimurti: Shiva, Brahma, Vishnu – whatsoever the name, the name is irrelevant, but one thing is certain: one becomes three, and then three becomes many.

And if you want to move backwards to the one, move from the many to three and then let the three combine – it will become one. Aum is a way, it is a mantra, a path, to combine all the sounds in three, to first reduce all the sounds to three – and then aum becomes the door for the one.

And this has been the experience of all the mystics all over the world, not only Hindus. They all have the same experience. They may have interpreted it differently. Mohammedans, Christians, and Jews end their prayers with amen. Hindu mystics say it is the same, aum. They interpreted differently, because the sound can be interpreted in many ways. You are traveling in a train and you can interpret the sound of the train in many ways; you can even feel that there is a song going on, because the interpretation is yours – sound is not creating the interpretation, the mind is creating the interpretation. Hindus say it is like aum; Christians, Jews, and Mohammedans have felt it as aumen, or amen.

English has three or four words which are mysterious for linguists. They are omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient, and such words. They cannot reduce them to any logical order. What does omnipotent mean? And from where does omni come? It comes from the Hindu word aum. What does omniscient mean? From where does the word omni come? Linguists have no way to explain it, these words have remained unexplained in English. But if you can understand aum then those words become clear, because aum is the symbol of the universe for Hindus. So omnipotent means one who knows all, one who is all-powerful; omnipresent means one who is everywhere present – present in the aum, seeing the aum, powerful like the aum.

If you enter deeper meditation soon you will realize that a sound is continuously happening there. It is the sound of existence itself, the humming sound of existence itself. And if you listen without interpreting it, if you don’t force any interpretation on it, if you simply listen and watch and observe, sooner or later you will realize it is aum vibrating inside.

In this stage all activities . . . cease. The universe in the form of the world – viswa, intelligence – prajna, and radiance – tejas, is just aum.

In this stage only aum exists – the sound, the ultimate sound. Or you can call it the soundless sound, the uncreated sound.

There is no division here between speech and the speaker.

This has to be understood. You speak but there is always you, the speaker, and that which you speak. You walk, there is always the division: the walker, you, and the walk, the activity. You eat, there is always the division: the eater, you, and the activity. You can fast but the division will remain: you, the faster, and the activity, fasting. The activity and the active agent remain two, a division exists.

At this stage, the seventh, this division also disappears. The walker is the walk, the observer is the observed, the speaker is the speech – life becomes a process undivided. If you ask a question of the person who is in the seventh stage, he never thinks about it, because there is no thinker. You ask the question, he responds. That response is not a thinking one, the response is just like a valley responding, a valley echoing. You sing a song in the valley and the whole valley echoes it. The valley doesn’t think that this sound is beautiful and should be echoed in such and such a way.

A buddha is a valley. You throw a question, the valley echoes. There is nobody who can think, there is nobody who can plan, there is nobody who can choose – really there is nobody now. It is emptiness, shunyata, it is a void. There is a valley; the valley responds. The speaker and the speech are one, the mover and the movement are one. This inner division falls immediately.

This exists because of the ego. Who thinks when somebody asks a question? Who thinks inside you? The ego. You have to give the right answer, or an answer which will be appreciated. But why are you worried about it? If you are the right person the right answer will flower through you. You are worried because you are not the right person. You have to force an answer, you have to create it, manufacture it somehow through the memory. You have to choose, combine, look at the person, at what type of person he is, and then it is a whole process of planning, choosing and thinking, but you are not spontaneous.

If you are a valley, if you have reached the seventh stage and the ego has disappeared, who will choose? The answer will flow. It will flow from the total person, not from the ego. Because of your ego you cannot be spontaneous – because you are always afraid you may not look good; you may not be appreciated. Your ego is exhibitionist. The speech and the speaker become one because there is no exhibitionist ego. Buddha responds with his totality; whatsoever the response, he is not concerned really.

If however, any such division remains, the state has not been attained.

So this is the criterion: if you feel any division inside, then know well this state has not been attained.

The first sound ‘a’ of aum, stands for the world – the universe; the second ‘u’ for radiance – life, elan vital; and the third ‘mfor intelligence – consciousness, awareness. Before entering samadhi – that is, ultimate ecstasy, the final ecstasy . . .

This path has to be remembered well, it will be very helpful. This is the last advice of this Upanishad, the final. And only Hindus and Tibetans have used this advice for millions of years. This is their last secret.

Before entering samadhi – that is, death with consciousness . . . Samadhi means death with consciousness, dying fully alert. You have died many times, but it was not samadhi, it was simple death, because whenever you died you were unconscious. Before death happens, you are unconscious, it is just a surgical procedure. Because death will be so painful for you, you cannot be allowed to be conscious – just as a surgeon gives you anesthetic, chloroform, before he operates on you, and then his operation is just nothing.

Death’s operation is so big because the whole being has to be taken out of your body with which it has become so attached, identified. It is not simply removing a bone; it is removing the whole body from you. So nature has a process: before you die you fall unconscious, fast asleep, you are no longer in your senses, and then your being can be removed. This is not samadhi.

And remember, if a person dies in unconsciousness he is born in unconsciousness, because the birth, the coming birth, will be the same, the same quality. If in this life you die unconsciously, in the next life you will be born unconscious in a womb. If you can die consciously then you can be born consciously. And if you can die with total awareness, the whole being alert, not a single part unconscious, then you will not be born at all. Then there is no need, then you can simply discard this body and become bodiless.

Before entering samadhi – that is, conscious, alert, aware of death . . . And only the person who has attained the seventh stage can enter it. He will be born no more; he will be out of the wheel of existence.

. . . The seeker should contemplate on aum most strenuously, and subsequently he should surrender everything, from gross to subtle to the conscious self. Taking the conscious self as his own self, he should consolidate this feeling: I am eternal, pure enlightened, free, existential, incomparable, the most blissful Vasudeva and Pranava himself – I am the Brahman.

Before entering death the seeker should try this.

Many things. First, before you enter death ordinarily you cling to the body, you don’t want to give it up. That is the ordinary reaction of the mind, to cling. Death is snatching everything, and you cling, you start a fight with death. In this fight you will be defeated. This sutra says: Give up consciously. From the gross to the subtle to the self, give up everything. Just say to death, “Take it. This is not me. Take this body, take this mind, take this self, this ego. I am not this.”

Don’t cling, let your life be a gift to death. Don’t create any fight and resistance. If you create fight, you will become unconscious and you will miss an opportunity again. Give up. Give death whatsoever you have – from the gross to the subtle to the very self, go on giving. Don’t create any resistance. This is the foundational thing. Don’t create resistance, don’t fight with death. What will happen? If you can give up knowingly, consciously, blissfully, you will not fall unconscious, there is no need. Your clinging creates the problem. […]

If there is no resistance, there is no problem. Resistance creates conflict, conflict creates problem. So at the moment of death the seeker should contemplate on aum. He should feel himself as the aum, the universe, the very life, the very existence, the very awareness. And subsequently he should surrender everything – from gross to subtle. And this is not only for the seeker, even an enlightened person who has achieved the seventh has to surrender.

It is reported of Buddha that he told his disciples one day just in the morning, “This evening I am going to surrender my body back to nature, so if you have to ask anything you can ask. This is the last day.”

They were very worried, depressed, sad; they started weeping and crying. And Buddha said, “Don’t waste time. If you have to ask anything this is the last day. In the evening when the sun is setting, I will surrender my body. I have used so many bodies and I have never thanked nature before. This is the last, now I will never move in a body again. This is the last house I have been living in, this is my last residence, so I have to thank nature and give the body back. It served many purposes; it led me really to this enlightenment. It was a means and was a good means. It helped me in every way. So I have to thank nature and surrender the whole abode back, because it is a gift from nature and I must surrender it consciously. So there is no time . . .”

But nobody asked any question, they were not in the mood to ask. They were sad and they said, “You have said everything, and we have not followed, so just give us your blessing that we may follow whatsoever you have said.”

Then by the evening Buddha retired. He went behind a tree to surrender. And it is said that a man named Subhadra who lived in a nearby town came running – there are many Subhadras always. He came running in the evening when Buddha had retired and he said, “I have some questions to ask.”

Buddha’s disciples said, “It is too late now, we cannot disturb him now. This is not good. You could have come before. Buddha passed through your village many times, at least ten times in his life, and we have never seen you come to him.”

The man said, “Every time Buddha was passing through my village there was something or other which prevented me. Sometimes my wife was ill, sometimes there was too much of a crowd in my shop, too many customers; sometimes I was ill, sometimes there was some other urgent thing to be done, sometimes there was some marriage going on – so I went on postponing. But now I have heard that he is going to die. There is no time to postpone now, and I must ask him. So allow me.”

They prevented him. They said, “It is impossible.”

Buddha came back from his retirement, and he said, “Let it not be written in history that while I was still alive somebody came and knocked at my door and went away empty-handed. Let him ask.”

Then he again retired. First, he surrendered his body. It is reported that when he surrendered his body there was a radiance around the body as if the body had become energy and was moving into the cosmos – a conscious surrender. Then he surrendered his mind. It is said a fragrance spread, went on spreading. A buddha’s mind is a fragrance, the condensed fragrance of such a great and pure and innocent life, it was felt. Then he surrendered his self. These three things surrendered, he died. This was mahaparinirvana, mahasamadhi. But it was a conscious surrender, death was given back everything that nature had given. This man will never be back again. Only such a conscious surrender can become samadhi, the ultimate samadhi.

Even if you have not attained the seventh stage, wherever you are, at any stage, when death approaches you try to be conscious, surrendering. Don’t fight with death. If you fight with death, death will conquer. If you don’t fight with death there is no possibility of conquering.

This is the way with death, to be in a let-go. And this has been done even by buddhas who have attained the seventh stage. So try it. For you it will be an effort, but worth doing. Even if you fail it is good to do, because doing it many times you will succeed. And once you succeed with death fear disappears, surrender becomes easy.

This is the difficulty with surrender. Many people come to me – one girl was here just the other day and she said, “I feel very sad because everybody else seems to be surrendered to you, trusting, in deep faith. I cannot surrender. Meditation is good, I feel good, but I cannot surrender.”

What is the problem in surrendering? Surrender is a death; you are afraid of dying. Whenever you think of surrender you feel, “Then I am no more, then I dissolve,” and you want to persist.

If you can surrender in death you can surrender in love, you can surrender in trust, you can surrender in faith. And the reverse is also true, vice-versa is also true; if you can surrender in love, surrender in faith, you will be able to surrender in death. Surrender is the same, the same phenomenon – and surrender is the key.

Learn to surrender in death, and if you cannot surrender in death you cannot surrender in life also. Those who are afraid of death are always afraid of life. They miss everything.

And subsequently he should surrender everything, from gross to subtle to the conscious self. Taking the conscious self as his own self, he should consolidate this feeling: I am eternal . . .

While dying, or while in deep meditation, which is a sort of death, or while making love, which is a sort of death – wherever you feel a surrender, think:

I am the eternal, the pure, enlightened, free, existential, incomparable, the most blissful Vasudeva and Pranava himself – God himself.

It will be a thought for you, because you have not attained the seventh stage. But if you attain the seventh these will be spontaneous feelings, not thoughts. Then you will not do them, they will happen to you. This is the difference: for a seeker who is yet below the fourth stage, this will be an effort; for a seeker who has gone beyond the third, this will be a spontaneous feeling. He will feel this way – that he is God, he is Brahma himself, Vasudeva.

Since the whole visible world, comprising a beginning, a middle, and an end, is sorrow stricken, he must renounce everything and merge into the supreme. He should feel that he is blissful, taintless, without ignorance, without appearance, inexpressible in words, and that he is Brahman, the essence of knowledge.

This is the Upanishadic mystery.

What is the Upanishadic mystery? The art of dying is the Upanishadic mystery. And one who knows how to die knows how to live. One who knows how to surrender conquers the whole.

-Osho

From Vedanta: Seven Steps to Samadhi, Discourse #16

Copyright © OSHO International Foundation

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The Motionless Flame of a Lamp – Osho

On the attainment of the fifth state, the mind of the seeker ceases, like clouds in an autumn sky, and only truth remains. In this state, worldly desires do not arise at all. During this state all thoughts of division in the seeker are stilled and he remains rooted in nonduality.

On the disappearance of the feeling of division, the fifth stage, known as sushuptapad – sleeping – draws the enlightened seeker into its nature. He is perpetually introverted and looks tired and sleepy, even though externally he continues his everyday activities.

On the accomplishment of this stage, the desire-free seeker enters the sixth one. Both truth and untruth, both egoism and egolessness and all sorts of mentation cease to exist in this state, and rooted in pure-nonduality, the seeker is free from fear.

As the entanglements of his heart dissolve, so all his doubts drop. This is the moment when he is completely emptied of all thought. Without attaining nirvana, he is in a nirvana-like state and becomes free while yet dwelling in the body.

This state is like that of the motionless flame of a lamp. And then comes the seventh stage.

-Akshi Upanishad

The first three stages belong to the part of your mind which is called will. The first three belong to the realm of effort. You have to do them; they will not happen on their own; and unless you have done them, the other states will not follow.

After the third stage everything becomes spontaneous. There is a sequence: one after another things will happen, but you will not be doing them. The only thing to remember for the other stages after the third is to allow them to happen. The first three you have to force to happen, they will not happen by themselves. After the third you have to allow them to happen, if you don’t allow, they will not happen.

So the first three belong to the positive effort and the remaining belong to the negative effort. Let it be understood well what I mean by positive effort and negative effort. By positive effort is meant: you have to do something, only then will something happen. By negative effort is meant: you are only to allow, you have to remain passive, not doing anything, open, receptive, that’s all, and things will happen. For example, the sun is rising outside. You can close your doors. If the doors are closed you can leave them closed. The sun will be outside, the sunrays will be outside, but you will remain in darkness. Negative effort means let your doors be open, that’s all. But you have to open the doors, that is positive effort in the beginning. Open the doors, then you have not to do anything else. The sun will rise, the light will enter. And as the sun rises more and more, more and more light will come to your room. The darkness will disappear.

You cannot bring the sunrays inside; you cannot put them in a bucket and bring them inside. You cannot force the sunrays to come in. No positive effort is needed, only to open the doors you have to be positive, that’s all. Then the sun by itself will fill the room. If you are open, passive, receptive like a womb, nothing can then prevent the light from entering. Or in other words, the first three steps are male, and the remaining steps are female. In the first three steps you have to be aggressive, masculine; in the remaining steps you have to be female, feminine, passive, receptive. That’s why I say that in the negative steps you have to be just a womb to receive. […]

The first steps are male, the last steps are female. Then there are a few things implied. The first three steps will be difficult for women, they will have to make more effort for them. The first three steps will be easy for men. The last steps will be easy for women and they will be difficult for men. This will be the difference in sadhana. The first three steps will come easily to a man. There is no problem because they suit his nature, he can be aggressive easily. The first three steps will be difficult for a woman; she will have to exert force; she will get tired easily. But if she can wait for the fourth then the whole wheel turns. The last steps will be very easy for a woman – she can wait, she can be receptive. Negative effort just suits her nature.

Nobody is at any advantage and nobody is at any disadvantage. The whole – half is male, half is female. So remember this: if you are a woman the first three steps are going to be a little difficult. Knowing it well, make all efforts. If you are a man then remember that after the third difficulty will arise for you, because it is difficult for a man to be in a let-go. He can do something, that’s easy. But to not do anything, to just remain waiting, is difficult. But if the first three steps have been done well that difficulty will not be so difficult, it will dissolve by and by.

Now the sutra. Before we enter it one thing more: that after the third the fourth will follow, you are not to drag it. After the fourth the fifth will follow, after the fifth the sixth will follow, after the sixth the seventh will follow. They will come automatically. Once your life energy starts moving things will happen automatically.

That’s why it is said that samadhi, the last, the seventh step, happens by the grace of God. That’s true in a way, because you will not be making any effort for it. Suddenly one day you will feel yourself filled with grace – suddenly, not knowing any visible cause. So sometimes samadhi has happened in such moments that one was not even aware, one could not even imagine that samadhi would happen in such a state. […]

It can happen anywhere, no buddha tree is needed.

It can happen anywhere because every spot on the earth is his, and every spot on the earth is sacred. Wherever you are, if you have done the right effort then things will grow, and one day – the happening. And that happening is going to be grace, because you cannot say, “I have done it.” You were not doing anything at all. That’s why so much insistence that the ultimate happens through grace, it is a gift of God. It is nothing which you have produced.

But remember, you have still been doing something which is negative: you were not creating hindrances. If you create hindrances even God’s grace cannot be available to you. There is a reason for it. As I told you, love cannot be aggressive, and grace is the supreme most love – the love that existence has for you. It cannot be aggressive; it cannot even knock at your door. If the doors remain closed the grace will simply wait there for millions of your lives. If the doors remain closed the grace will not knock, because knocking is aggression. Unless you open the doors on your own the grace will not enter. It is not aggressive; it has no sex center in it. It can wait infinitely.

One thing you have to do: don’t create hindrances after the third. And once the fourth has happened these stages will follow. They follow just as a river flows to the sea. Once it has started, once it has crossed mountains – because in the mountains there will be a little struggle, effort, resistance; the rocks, the valleys, the mountains . . . Once the river has followed the mountains, has crossed them and has come to the flat land, then there is no problem, things flow easily. It will reach one day to the ocean.

The three stages for your river are as if in the mountains, then from the fourth you are on plain ground, you can flow. Sooner or later the ocean will be there, and you will fall down into it. And the whole course is now going to be spontaneous, you have just to flow and not do anything. And for flowing one need not do anything, flowing is not something to do.

You enter a river: if you want to swim, then you will have to do something. But if you just want to flow with the river, you need not do anything, you have simply to allow the river to take you – no resistance. That’s why a miracle happens. A live man may be drowned, but no river can drown a dead man, no river is so powerful it can drown a dead man. And any man who is live, alive, can be drowned by a small river also. The dead man must know some secret which alive men don’t know. The alive man fights with the river. The river is not drowning him; through his own fight he gets exhausted, he becomes tired, dissipates energy, becomes impotent – through his own fight, unnecessary fight. The river is not fighting him, he is fighting the river and wants to swim upstream.

Every one of you wants to swim upstream, because only when you fight with the river and swim upstream is ego created. Then you feel you are winning; you are becoming victorious. The swimming upstream creates the ego.

One day you are bound to get tired of it, and then the river will drown you because then you will have no energy left. But a dead man knows a secret. He cannot fight, he is dead; he cannot flow upstream. He simply allows the river to take him anywhere it wants. Not he, but the river now wills. No river can drown him. He can move, he can become the flow.

After the third stage you have to become like a dead man, that is the negative effort. That’s what is meant by old Indian scriptures when they say that the guru, the master, is like death, he will kill you.

Only when you are dead will the grace become possible to you. […] Dead men flow. They are spontaneous because they have no will of their own. After the third stage you should be like dead men. Then these stages follow:

On the attainment of the fifth stage – the fourth is advaita, the feeling of nonduality – the mind of the seeker ceases, like clouds in an autumn sky, and only truth remains.

The fourth is advaita, nonduality, when you can see that only oneness exists, clouds start disappearing, only the sky remains. Clouds are there because you divide, because duality is there. Your mind is clouded, many clouds float there, because you cannot see the one sky hidden behind the clouds. You are too obsessed with the clouds, with the contents. […]

We see the clouds, not the sky. The background is always missed, and that background is the real, the big, the wide and the vital and the vast. Whenever you look in the sky you see a small cloud floating there, you never see the sky! […]

When you can see the sky clouds disappear. When you can see the consciousness thoughts disappear.

On the attainment of the fifth stage the mind of the seeker ceases, like clouds in an autumn sky, and only truth remains.

The sky is the truth, the vagabond clouds are not true. They are not eternal, they are momentary phenomena, they come and go. Remember, this is the definition of the Upanishads, the definition of truth: that which remains always. The real is not true if the real moves and changes. Upanishads have a particular definition of truth: truth is that which always remains, and untruth is that which comes and goes.

The untruth can exist, but it is momentary, it is dreamlike. Why do you call dreams untrue? They exist, they have their existence, their reality; in the dream you believe in them, but in the morning when you have awakened you say they were dreams, untrue, unreal. Why? They were there, so why do you call them unreal? You must be following unknowingly the definition of the Upanishads – because they are no more. They were but are no more. There was a moment when they were not, then there was a moment when they were, now there is again a moment when they are not, and between two non-existences how is existence possible? That existence which exists between two non-existences must be unreal, dreamlike.

One day you were not here on this earth, in this body. If your name is Ram, then Ram didn’t exist before your birth. Then, after your death, Ram will not exist again. So two non-existences on two poles, and between is your existence, the Ram. It is dreamlike. If there is something which existed before your birth and will exist after your death, the Upanishads call that the truth.

They say, “Find the eternal, the nonchanging. Unless you come to that which has always been, will always be, consider all else dreaming.” They say, “Clouds are dreams.” Not that they are unreal – they are real, they are there, you can see them, but they are dreams, because they were not and they will not be again. And when they were not the sky was, when they are the sky is, when they will not be again the sky will be. So the sky remains, the space remains, and everything appears in it and disappears.

This world of appearance and disappearance is called maya – the illusion, the dream. The background which remains always constant, continuous, eternally there, which never changes – which cannot change – that is the truth.

Your life is also divided by the Upanishads into two parts: one that changes and one that remains permanent, eternal – eternally permanent. That which changes is your body, that which changes is your mind, and that which never changes is your soul. Your body and mind are like clouds, your soul is like the sky. At the attainment of the fifth stage clouds disappear; your body, your mind, clouds in the sky . . . and all that is impermanent disappears, and the permanent is revealed . . . And only truth remains.

In this state, worldly desires do not arise at all.

. . . Because worldly desires can arise only for the clouds, for the objects, for the impermanent; you cannot desire that which is always. There is no need to desire it, it is always there. You can desire only that which will not be there. The more impermanent the more you are attracted towards it. The sooner it flies into non-existence the more your obsession with it.

All beauty appeals, because it is the most impermanent thing in existence. A flower has an appeal, not the rock just lying down there beside the flower. You will never see the rock, you will see the flower, because the flower is impermanent. In the morning it is there, by the afternoon it will be no more – or at the most by the evening it will disperse, fall down, dissolve. The flower attracts you, not the rock.

You may have heard about Zen gardens, which are called rock gardens. They don’t make flower gardens in Zen monasteries; they make rock gardens. They say, “Flowers disappear, they are not true; rocks remain.” That is just symbolic. So Zen gardens are really unique in the world; nowhere else do such gardens exist. In their gardens only sand and rock is allowed, no flowers. Vast grounds with sand and rocks, and a Zen disciple has to sit there just to meditate on rocks, not on flowers. It is just symbolic.

You never see the rocks, you always see the flower, because your mind is concerned with the impermanent. And you become more concerned because it is going to dissolve soon; before it dissolves, possess it. Possession arises in the mind. Beauty disperses, is impermanent; possess it before it disperses. That’s why there is so much possessiveness in human relationship and so much misery in it – because you are aware that this is something which is not going to last forever. It is moving: the young woman is becoming old, the young man is becoming old; every moment death is coming in and you are afraid, the fear is there. You want to possess and indulge more and more so that you have tasted it before death appears.

At the fifth stage only truth remains. Worldly desires do not arise at all – because they arise only for the impermanent. The world means the impermanent: power, prestige, beauty, wealth, fame – all are impermanent. You may be a president today and next day a beggar on the street and no one looking at you. Have you observed? – this is happening every moment. […] Fame is flowerlike; power, prestige, flowerlike. […]

I was reading Voltaire’s life. He was so famous, so loved by people, by the masses, that it was impossible for him to go to Paris, because whenever he would go such a great crowd would gather to receive him that he was almost crushed many times by the crowd. A big police force had to be maintained whenever he came. And there was a superstition in those days in France that if you could get a piece of the clothing of a famous man like Voltaire, it was worth preserving, it helped you. So whenever he would go to Paris he would reach his home almost naked because people would snatch his clothes. His body would be scratched.

Then suddenly the fame disappeared, people forgot him completely; he would go to the station and there would be no one even to receive him. And when he died only four persons followed him to the cemetery – three men and one dog. But these things attract the mind, and the more impermanent the more the attraction – because if you are not in a hurry you may lose.

At the fifth stage worldly desires do not arise at all – because now your focus has changed, your emphasis changed. Your gestalt has moved from the foreground to the background, your gestalt has changed from the content to the container. Now you don’t look at the clouds, you look at the sky. And the sky is so vast, so infinite, that your clouds don’t mean anything now. Whether they are there or not, they are not – they have no significance.

During this state all thoughts of division in the seeker are stilled, and he remains rooted in nonduality. On the disappearance of the feeling of division, the fifth stage, known as sushuptapad – sleeping – draws the enlightened seeker into its nature. He is perpetually introverted and looks tired and sleepy, even though externally he continues his everyday activities.

The Upanishads say there are four stages or four steps of human consciousness. First, the waking state of consciousness. Just now you are in the waking state of consciousness. The second, the dreaming state of consciousness, when you dream in the night. The third, the sleeping state of consciousness, when you don’t dream, simply sleep, deep sleep. These three are known to you.

Then the fourth, when all these three have disappeared and you have transcended them. This fourth is simply called turiya; turiya means the fourth.

The first three, which need your will and effort, belong to the waking consciousness. The fourth and fifth belong to your sleeping consciousness, to your dreaming consciousness. The sixth belongs to your sleeping consciousness. And the seventh will belong to the turiya, the transcendental state of consciousness.

On the disappearance of the feeling of division, the fifth stage, known as sushuptapad, draws the enlightened seeker into its nature.

In deep sleep mind disappears, because there is not even dreaming, no content. In deep sleep you have fallen back again into your nature. That’s why deep sleep refreshes you. In the morning you feel alive again, rejuvenated, young, vital, because in deep sleep you had fallen again to your original nature. You were no more an ego, you were no more a mind – you were just part of nature. While you are deep asleep you are just like a tree or a rock, you are no more an individual. You have become part of the ocean, of course unknowingly, unconsciously.

If this can happen knowingly, consciously, sushupti, deep sleep, becomes samadhi, becomes ecstasy. In sushupti, deep sleep, you touch the same point which Buddha touches, which Ramakrishna, Ramana, Eckhart or Jesus touch. But they go to that point conscious, you go to that point unconscious. You move into your nature but you are not aware of what is happening. They also move to the same nature, but they are aware. That is the only difference between sleep and samadhi; otherwise they are the same.

Alert, conscious, aware, you move into yourself, you are enlightened. Unconscious you move every night, but that doesn’t make you enlightened. You give yourself to nature. Tired of your ego, tired of your day-to-day activities, the routine, tired of your personality, you fall into a sleep. Nature reabsorbs you, recreates you, gives you back your vitality in the morning.

So if a person is ill, very ill, the physicians will try first to give him deep sleep, because nothing will help, no medicine can help if you are not falling back to your nature. If an ill person can go into deep sleep, even without medicine he will become healthy. So the first effort of the physician is to help you to fall into deep sleep, because nature spontaneously rejuvenates.

On the disappearance of the feeling of division, the fifth stage, known as sushuptapad – sleeping – draws the enlightened seeker into its nature. He is perpetually introverted – in this stage, the seeker will remain perpetually introverted – and looks tired and sleepy, even though externally he continues his everyday activities.

If you go to Sufi monasteries, you will see there many persons very sleepy, as if someone has hypnotized them. They will look like zombies – as if they are walking in sleep, working in sleep, following orders in sleep. And monasteries were created because of such things.

A person who is in the fifth stage will have many difficulties in the world because he will move sleepily. He is constantly deep in his nature, as if fast asleep. He will have to make effort to be awake. He will be introverted; he will not be interested in the outside world. He would like more and more time to move inwards. You will be able to see from his eyes also; they will be droopy, tired. He doesn’t want to look out, he wants to look in. His face will show the same state as that of a hypnotized medium. The face will be relaxed, as if he can fall any moment into sleep. He will become just like a child again.

The child in the mother’s womb sleeps twenty-four hours a day for nine months; never awakens, just sleeps, goes on sleeping for nine months. Those nine months are needed, because if a child awakens then the growth will be hindered. In those nine months of deep sleep his whole body is created. Nature is working. The waking consciousness will create disturbance in nature, so the child sleeps completely.

Then the child is born and after his birth he sleeps less and less. Twenty-four hours he was sleeping in the womb; out of the womb he will sleep twenty-three hours, then twenty-two hours, then twenty hours, then eighteen hours. His sleep will come to eight hours only when he has become sexually mature – that is at fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, somewhere around there. Then his sleep will remain fixed because now the body has grown up completely, biologically. He can reproduce, he can now himself give birth to a child, he is sexually mature. Now there is no work left to do in the body; the body has stopped working; no new creation is going on. Eight hours sleep will do.

Then as he becomes old, after fifty, there is less and less sleep. Old men cannot sleep; four hours, three hours, then two hours, then even one hour will be too much, they will not be able to sleep. If you can understand this then when you get old you will not be worried. There is no need now for more sleep. And if you can understand this then you will not force small children to be awake when they feel sleepy.

Every family tortures children, because you want them to behave like you. If you get up early in the morning, at five, you would like your children also to get up in brahmamuhurt. You are foolish. That is destructive to children, they need more sleep. You can drag them and they cannot do anything because they are helpless. Sleepy they will get up. You can force them to sit and read. Sleepy they will somehow do it. You force small children, and then when you become old and when they become old, they will think that if they cannot sleep for eight hours then something is wrong. Nothing is wrong. An old man doesn’t need . . . there is no new work in the body. Sleep will be less and less.

When this fifth stage happens the seeker will become again like a small child. He will feel sleepy, he will need more sleep, he will be more introverted. His eyes will like to be closed more than open, because he is not interested in looking outside, and a new work has started in his being again. Now he is again a child. Something new, phenomenal, is happening now; alchemically a new being is created again. He himself has become the womb now. He will feel more sleepy.

Monasteries were needed for such people, because in the world people will not tolerate you in this stage. They will say, “You have become lazy! Go to the doctor, take some activizers. This is not good.” You will look dead and dull; your shining face will become dull. People will think you are ill or that somebody has hypnotized you. You will look like a zombie. Monasteries were needed for the fifth stage, really. The first three can be done in the world, but after the fourth you will need . . . And in the fifth you will certainly need a monastery where people understand you. […]

People who understand will not disturb anybody’s sleep, one must come out of it gradually. But this is for ordinary sleep. When the person is in the fifth state then it is a very deep sleep – you don’t know about it. It is falling to the original nature so deeply that it is very difficult to be pulled out. Nobody should disturb. That’s why monasteries were made deep in the hills, forests, where nobody would come. Nobody would disturb anybody unnecessarily, and only a few people would be there who knew.

Sometimes a seeker will remain for months at a time in sleep, and then very loving care is needed, no disturbance. He is being created again. And this can happen continuously even for nine months, just as it happens in the womb. And when the seeker comes out of it he will be totally new. A new child is born, the old man is no more. He will be completely, totally fresh. You look into his eyes and they will have a depth, an abysslike depth. You cannot find the bottom. You can go in and in and in and there is no end to it.

This is what Jesus says: “Unless you become like children again, you will not enter into the kingdom of my God.” The fifth stage will make you again a child.

He is perpetually introverted and looks tired and sleepy, even though externally he continues his everyday activities.

He can continue but he will look like a robot. He will go to the bath, take his bath; he will go to the kitchen, eat his food. He will do, but you can see that he is doing as if walking in sleep, somnambulistic.

On the accomplishment of this stage, the desire-free seeker enters the sixth one.

All desires disappear in the fifth. He becomes totally introverted: no extroversion, no outgoing energy. Desire-free, then the seeker enters the sixth one.

Both truth and untruth, both egoism and egolessness, and all sorts of mentations cease to exist in this state, and rooted in pure nonduality, the seeker is free from fear.

Remember, in the fifth untruth disappears, truth remains. In the sixth even truth disappears. In the fifth clouds disappear, the sky remains. In the sixth the sky also disappears – because you cannot continue to remember the sky without the clouds. And when there is no untruth how can you remember the truth? The duality is needed. When there is no black how can you remember the white?

Think, if the whole earth was populated by white men and there were no colored people, nobody would have been called white. Because of black people, colored people, a few people are white. Or think, if the whole earth was populated by Negroes, Negroid people, black, nobody would have been black. The contrast is needed. Only in contrast can the thing continue to be remembered. When untruth has disappeared how can you carry truth any more? How can you remember that it is truth? It has to be dropped, it will drop automatically. But first untruth drops, then truth is forgotten, it ceases. And when truth also drops you have reached something, not before it.

The sixth is the door, the real door, to the infinity. The sixth is the door, the real door, to the ultimate. Lao Tzu says – and whatsoever he says belongs to the sixth and seventh – he says, “If you are good you are still bad. If you feel that you are a saint you are still a sinner. If you look in the mirror and feel you are beautiful you have ugliness in you” . . .  because when a person is really beautiful he cannot remember that he is beautiful, only ugliness can remember. When a person is really good he cannot feel he is good, because first the bad disappears, then the good also. No divisions.

In the sixth . . . truth and untruth, both egoism and egolessness, and all sorts of mentations cease.

Ego disappears in the fifth, because ego is a cloud, it is part of the world of the clouds. It is just like a rainbow in the clouds – false, dreamlike. When you become aware of the soul you are not an egoist; you become egoless, you become humble. But Lao Tzu says that if you are still humble the ego exists somewhere; otherwise, how can you feel that you are a humble person? Go to somebody who is humble, watch him, and you will feel that his ego is very subtle, that’s all.

He goes on saying, “I am a humble person.” He insists that he is humble. His humbleness has now become his ego and pride, and if you say, “No, you are not,” he will be angry. If you say, “I have seen a more humble person in your town,” he will say, “This is impossible. I am the most humble, the humblest.” But “I am” remains. Now the ‘I’ claims humbleness, before it was claiming something else. […] So even nobodiness can become part of the ego.

In the sixth stage ego disappears, egolessness also. Then there will be problems. If egolessness disappears then you will have difficulty in interpreting. A real sage is without the ego and without humility. If humility is there the sage is not real, not yet real. He has not reached the sixth stage; he has not reached the door.

But then you will be in a difficulty, because you always think that humility is the quality. If you go to a buddha you will not see any humility in him. You will not see any ego either, but you will not see any humility also. And this disappearance of humility may make it seem to you that he is not humble. Buddha says, “The Vedas are of no use, scriptures are to be thrown.” If you go to him it will look as if he is not humble. He is saying that scriptures are of no use, the Vedas are to be thrown – he looks very egoistic. He is not, but he is not humble either. So whatsoever he is saying is neither related to ego nor related to egolessness. That will be the problem.

Look at Jesus, he was not a humble person at all. He was not an egoist, but not humble either. That created the problem, that led him to the cross. He was not humble at all. And now many psychologists say that he was neurotic, and they have a point. Many psychologists say that he was an egomaniac; they have a point. If psychologists study Buddha and Mahavira they will conclude the same things – but they have not studied them. They should have been studied very minutely.

So they say he was an egomaniac. Why? You can find reasons – because he was not humble. He used to say, “I am God,” or “I am the son of God. I and my father in heaven are one.” To the egoist mind this will appear like ego. And nobody can say that this man is humble who claims that he and God are one, or who claims that he is the son of God. It looks like a claim to us; to Jesus this was a simple fact.

And he was not claiming that you are not the son of God: claiming that he is the son of God, he claimed for you all. It is Christianity which claimed the wrong thing; Christianity started to claim that he is the only son of God. That is absurd, that is egomania. But Jesus was saying a simple fact: if the whole creation is out of God, the whole creation is the son, God is the father. He was saying a simple fact with no ego in it, but this disturbed people. They thought a sage must be humble. He used to say, “I am the king of the Jews.” This has been said many times, but to people who were more wise than Jews. Jews were offended that this man who was just a beggar on the street, no more – just a vagabond, just an old hippie – that this man claimed, “I am the king of the Jews.” But he was not claiming anything, he was in a state of mind where there is no ego. Kingship comes into being, but that is not ego. And that kingship doesn’t belong to any worldly affairs, it is not a claim to rule anybody. That kingship is just felt as an inner nature.

Ram Teerth, an Indian mystic of this century, used to call himself Emperor Ram. He was a beggar, but nobody took offense in India because we have known so many beggars saying that, and we know that that happens: a moment comes when a person becomes an emperor without any kingdom. Really, a person becomes an emperor only when there is no kingdom.

He went to America, and the American president invited him to visit. The American president felt uncomfortable because Ram Teerth always used to say “Emperor Ram.” Even while talking he would say, “Emperor Ram says this.” So the president humbly asked, “I cannot understand this. You don’t seem to have any kingdom, why do you claim that you are an emperor?”

Ram Teerth said, “That’s why I claim – because I have nothing to lose, nobody can defeat me. My kingdom is of the eternal, you cannot take it from me. Your kingdom can be taken, your presidency can be destroyed. Nobody can destroy me, I have nothing to lose. I am an emperor because I have no desires.”

If you have desires you are a beggar. So there are two types of beggars, poor beggars and rich beggars. When Jesus said, “I am the king of the Jews,” he was saying this. But people got offended. They said, “This is too much. This man cannot be tolerated – he must be crucified, he must be killed.” But Jesus was a humble man, humble in this sense, that even humbleness was not there – egoless, egolessness was not there – truly humble. But then one starts saying facts. And you live in a world of ego, you interpret because of your egos. So people thought, “This man is claiming something – that he is the son of God, he is the king of the Jews – and he is nothing, just a beggar, a vagabond!”

In India nobody would have taken any offense. India has seen so many Jesuses, nobody would have taken offense. In India every sannyasin is called swami; swami means the master, the king. We call a man swami; swami means the lord. When he leaves everything, when he doesn’t claim anything, when he has nothing, then he becomes swami, then he becomes the lord. Jesus was claiming something Indian in a country which was not India; that became the problem.

 . . . And all sorts of mentations cease in this state, and rooted in pure nonduality, the seeker is free from fear.

Fear can exist only if the other is there. If you are alone, there can be no fear – the other creates the fear. You are sitting in a room alone, then somebody looks in through the window. Fear has come in. If you know the person well then less fear; if the person is absolutely a stranger then more fear, because then he is more other. If the person speaks your language then less fear, because he is somehow related. But if the person doesn’t speak your language then more fear. If the person is a Christian and you are also a Christian then less fear. But if the person is a pagan then more fear. If the person is totally other – doesn’t belong to your country, doesn’t belong to your language group, doesn’t belong to your religion, doesn’t belong to your race – more fear is created. The more the other is other, the more you become afraid. But whatsoever the other may be, howsoever near, the fear continues. The husband is afraid of the wife, the wife is afraid of the husband. They are close but the fear remains. Sartre says that the other is hell . . . […]

Your life is a suffering because the other is everywhere. […]

So what is the way to get out of this hell that the other creates? The Upanishads say, “You disappear!” When you are no more, the other is no more. You create the other by being yourself. The more the ego, the more the other will be there. The other is a creation, a by-product of the ego. And then, when you are no more and the whole has become one, the other and ‘I’ are not divided, there is no fear. The seeker is free from fear. And you cannot be free from fear in any other way. […]

As the entanglements of his heart dissolve, so all his doubts drop. […]

This Upanishad says that only at the stage – this stage, the sixth – when all the entanglements of the heart, all the confusions of the mind, the mentation itself drops, then all doubts drop, never before. Only at the sixth stage a man becomes doubtless, never before. You can trust before it, but you have to trust with doubts; the doubts remain by the side. They will always remain unless you reach the sixth. All that you can do is push them aside, don’t pay much attention to them. Nothing can be done. They cannot be answered, you cannot be satisfied. And you cannot drop them before the sixth.

Then what should be done? You can just put them aside in the corner. Let them be there but don’t pay much attention to them, be indifferent to them. Buddha has said, “Be indifferent to your doubts and wait, and go on doing whatsoever is possible.” A state of mind comes when doubts disappear, when suddenly at the sixth stage you look – the doubts are not there in your consciousness, they have gone. They go with the change of your consciousness, not with answers.

This is the moment when he is completely emptied of all thought. Without attaining nirvana, he is in a nirvana-like state, and becomes free while yet dwelling in the body. This state is that of the motionless flame of a lamp. And then comes the seventh stage.

Without attaining nirvana, he is in a nirvana-like state. The sixth state is not nirvana. He is still in the body; the mind has disappeared but the body is there. He has still to live, he has still to fulfill his karmas, he has to pay his debts, he has to finish all the accounts, close all the accounts that he has opened in many lives – but his mind has gone. The body will go when the time is ripe, when all the accounts are closed – then he will reach nirvana. But he is in a nirvana -like state, it is just close to nirvana.

You are not exactly in the garden but just sitting by the side of it. You can feel the coolness, the cool air comes to you. You can smell the scent coming from the flowers. You can feel, it is showering on you, but you are standing outside. Soon you will enter. You are just at the gate but still not in it.

That’s why the sixth state is called nirvana-like, but not nirvana.

This state is like that of the motionless flame of a lamp.

No movement, no wavering, all mentation has ceased, all thoughts stopped. You are unwavering, the consciousness is nishkam, without any wavering, like a flame with no wind. In a closed room where no breeze is coming, the flame of a lamp or a candle will become static, there will be no movement. Your consciousness in the sixth becomes a motionless flame.

And then comes the seventh stage . . .

-Osho

From Vedanta: Seven Steps to Samadhi, Discourse #14

Copyright © OSHO International Foundation

An MP3 audio file of this discourse can be downloaded from Osho.com or you can read the entire book online at the Osho Library.

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A True Mystic – Lucy Cornelssen

A True Mystic

There are a few individuals who come into this world, live a remote, almost obscure life, yet radiate a special presence. They are like a little lantern on a worn path that, if one stumbles across, lights one’s way. Lucy Cornelssen was one such lantern. She was a true mystic, born with an intense inner calling, the gift of compassion, and a smile that melted one’s heart.

We met her when she was in her mid-eighties and knew her well into her nineties. Lucy spent her last decade living in a small, one-room, thatched-roofed cottage at the foot of the sacred hill, Arunachala, in the South Indian town of Tiruvannamalai. She possessed the rare quality of grace and resignation and permeated the space around her with the magic of inner silence.

Her outer life was nondescript. In her later years she rarely left the cottage, yet she was always an inspiration to be with. At least once a week over a period of several years, my husband and I would visit her modest cottage. Often we would simply sit quietly together, with the silence broken by stories from Indian lore or pieces from the colorful quilt of her life. The most memorable scenes were of her young days as a German mother taking refuge from World War II in the depths of the Black Forest of Southern Germany. It was during these years, living like Thoreau, that awakened her sense of “living in the moment,” of becoming truly quiet. It was here that she listened to the sounds of nature and the rain tapping on the roof—she simply became one with nature. In the forest, Lucy learned the art of waiting without expectation and living one day at a time.

Through her mother, she came to learn of Indian art and philosophy. One day when entering a room in her Mother’s house, her eyes fell upon a bronze figure of Nataraja, the Hindu diety Shiva, in its dancing aspect. Immediately she felt a previous or karmic connection and became unconscious to the outer world. From that time on, she lived as one who felt the presence of Shiva in her heart.

As a trained journalist, Lucy Ma (as she was affectionately called) translated the Talks with Ramana Maharshi into German. Her translation became widely read by those interested in the teachings of this great sage. This attraction to Ramana grew into a deep mystical relationship with the Arunachala Hill, for this sacred hill is considered to be the physical manifestation of Shiva himself. To Lucy Ma, Arunachala was not merely a hill of red boulder and stone but the living presence of Shiva, a place that radiates silence and peace, turning one’s mind toward the Self.

While her philosophical outlook was resolutely non-dualistic, her devotion to Shiva was deeply interwoven into her nature, revealing a beautiful balance of head and heart. Lucy Ma loved stories, especially allegorical ones, and would always see the teachings within them rather than the theory. Often she would entertain us from her endless source of stories, and each story seemed to be appropriate for us at that moment. When she sensed we were taking events around us too seriously, she would often tell us a story to put us back on track. One of her favorites was about a King who asked the spiritual teachers of his land to give him something which would make him happy when he was sad and sad when he was happy. After much deliberation they presented him with a ring on which was inscribed the saying: “This too shall pass.”

The last time we saw her we knew it would be our last. She was eating very little then, and we knew she would effortlessly slip away in a silent, graceful manner like a butterfly whose purpose has been fulfilled through metamorphosis. She stood at the entrance to her small cottage waving and smiling radiantly. I turned to look just before entering the main road and saw her gazing at the peak of her beloved Arunachala.

For a number of years, while living in the United States, we had a regular correspondence. Even though she became frailer and found writing difficult, she continued. Lucy Ma’s last letter to us was written a few weeks before her passing, in 1990, and contained a very pointed and strong admonition to be at peace with whatever life brings, that the secret of true peace lies in acceptance and letting go. For Lucy Ma these were not mere words but a living testimony of her life.

Excerpts from Hunting the “I”

Lucy’s understanding of Truth was always deep and original. She translated, into German, a number of books on Ramana Maharshi, learning the Tamil language to better facilitate the translation. But there was one book that she wrote directly in English, and it remains her special contribution: Hunting the ‘I’. Excerpts below are from the chapter entitled “Obstacles on the Path.” It is both personal and practical, offering excellent tips for the spiritual seeker.

Hunting the ‘I’ means trying to overcome obstacles before Awakening to the Truth . . . but how many faces it has! The one which soon betrays itself as a great deposit of obstacles is the so-called mind, with its main qualities of restlessness and dullness. The cardinal remedy that has been mentioned is to develop an attitude of unconcerned witnessing—watch the restless thoughts, and the rushing torrent of the mind will slow down.

——-

Looking for other obstacles, we meet another one which may trouble us a lot, our changing moods. We are aware that they change; much to our annoyance. Sometimes we are restless or inclined to flare up, at other times we feel dull or even depressed, and sometimes we seem to be the very embodiment of harmony, peace and happiness itself. Of course, there always seems to be some reason for it. And this idea is wrong. For in respect to changing moods, we are merely a biological phenomenon, an organism, simply reacting to some cosmic influence. Sattva, corresponding to light, peace, and harmony; rajas, communicating heat, movement, passion, and wrath; and tamas, relating to dullness, ignorance, stagnation, and depression are three gunas (qualities), of nature itself, which are in perfect balance among each other during the unmanifested period of the dormant universe. Their manifestation into activity is prompted by a disturbance in the balance and is kept in motion by them. They cause the rhythm in which the universe is swinging, and there is absolutely nothing which can withdraw from their influence. Beyond the gunas is Absolute Consciousness, because It is beyond nature.

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The understanding of the true nature of our moods unfolds great insight in our spiritual practice, insofar as it effectively undermines our long cherished feeling of individuality. Aren’t joy and sorrow, happiness and misery, suffering and high elation the very ‘stuff’ of our souls? Where is our individuality, if all this is superimposed on some quite impersonal changes, caused regularly by the rhythmic change in the balance of nature? How can we get control over the amazing mystery, which reveals itself as a cosmic power far beyond the reach of our personal ‘I’? . . . We can renounce the desire to seek and find and even invent reasons for changes in our conditions- bodily, mentality and spiritually. We can simply watch the coming and going of our moods and each time make the best of them.

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There is another rather harmless mistake which happens regularly to beginners. Many are blessed with various glimpses- spiritual experiences. These experiences carry the stamp of a genuine change of consciousness, and of course the seeker is happy and convinced that he has made real progress. There is no harm in it, but soon he faces the reality that these ‘experiences’ fade away. When this happens again and again, he learns to understand these sparks for what they are, glimpses that propel him forward in his spiritual endeavor. They only become a pitfall when he, by vanity of impatience, gets stuck in one of them, taking it for final Realization. Then further progress is blocked.

——-

The duty of the seeker is to watch himself ceaselessly; he has to know what is going on within himself. When he looks at others, his personal ‘I’ at once makes comparisons, and the result will be: ‘I am holier than thou.’ With this idea he gives his ‘personal I’ a strong chance to develop into a ‘spiritual I’, which is much worse than his original, quite ordinary ‘I’. The result is a spiritual pride, made worse the more advanced the seeker has become, because his attainments serve only to confirm his ‘right’ to be proud of his success. But even if he perceives the gentle voice from within, warning him against this trend going on and reminding him of the secret of real ‘attainment’, silent humility, and even if he is quite prepared to accept the warning, there is still the risk of the cunning ego concealing itself in the pride of his humility!

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Luckily the sadhaka (seeker) is not left alone in his secret struggle against himself on his lonesome inner journey. How could he ever reach it, were it not already within himself? And It never fails to send signals of warning when the traveler is nearing a pitfall or has ever been caught by one due to inadvertence.

From Hunting the “I”, by Lucy Cornelssen. Copyright © 1979, 2003 by Sri Ramanasramam. All rights reserved. Reprinted by arrangement with Sri Ramanasramam, Tiruvannamalai, South India.

As seen on Inner Directions.

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Only Knowing Remains – Osho

The first stage, to which contentment and bliss impart sweetness, springs from the innermost recesses of the seeker’s heart, as if nectar has issued forth from the heart of the Earth. At the inception of this stage the innermost recess becomes a field for the coming of the other stages. Afterwards the seeker attains the second and third stages. Of the three, the third is the highest, because on its attainment all the modifications of will come to an end.

One who practices the three stages finds his ignorance dead, and on entering the fourth stage he sees everything, everywhere, equally. At that moment he is so strongly embedded in the experience of nonduality – advaita – that the experience itself disappears.

Thus, on attaining the fourth stage the seeker finds the world as illusory as a dream. So while the first three stages are called waking ones, the fourth is dreaming.

-Akshi Upanishad

The fourth stage. The first is that of the oceanic feeling that Brahman exists everywhere – oneness. The one alone exists; the many are just its forms. They are not really divided; they only appear divided; deep down they are one.

The second stage is that of vichar – thought, contemplation and meditation – where mind has to be disciplined to become one-pointed, because it can disappear only when it has become one-pointed, when the flux has stopped; that is, when you can remain with one thought as long as you wish. You have become the master then, and unless you are the master of the mind, the mind cannot disappear, it cannot cease to be; you cannot order it out of existence.

If you cannot order thoughts to stop, how can you order the whole mind to go out of existence? So in the second stage one has to drop thoughts by and by and retain only one thought. When you have become capable of dropping thoughts, one day you can drop the mind itself, the whole thought process. When the thought process is dropped, you cannot exist as an ego. You exist as consciousness but not as mind; you are there but not as an I. We say “I am.” When mind drops, the I drops; you remain a pure amness. Existence is there, rather, more abundant, more rich, more beautiful, but without the ego. There is no one who can say I, only amness exists.

In the third stage, vairagya, non-attachment, you have to become alert – first of the objects of desire, the body, the world – and continuously practice and discipline yourself to become a witness. You are not the doer. Your karmas may be the doers, God may be the doer, fate, or anything, but you are not the doer. You have to remain a witness, just a seer, an onlooker. And then this has also to be dropped. The idea that “I am the witness” is also a sort of doing. Then non-attachment becomes complete, perfect. The third stage, this Upanishad says, is the highest of the three. Now we will discuss the fourth.

The fourth is the state of advaita, nonduality. This word advaita has to be understood before we enter the sutra. This word is very meaningful. Advaita means literally nonduality, not two. They could have said one, but the Upanishads never use the word one; they say nonduality, not two. And this is very significant, because if you say one the two is implied, it becomes a positive statement. If you say there is only one you are asserting something positive.

How can the one exist without the other? One cannot exist without the other. You cannot conceive of the figure one without other figures – two, three, four, five. Many mathematicians have worked it out, particularly Leibniz in the West. He has tried to drop the nine digits, figures. Instead of nine he uses only two: one and two. In his calculations, three, four, five, six, seven, eight and nine are dropped, because he said it is just superstition to continue using ten figures. Why continue using ten figures?

You may not have observed: ten figures exist in mathematics not by any planning, but just because we have ten fingers. The primitives used to count on the fingers, so ten became the basic figure and it has been taken all over the world. These ten figures, this basis of all arithmetic, was produced in India. That’s why even today in all languages the words that denote these ten figures are basically Sanskrit: two is dwi, three is tri, four is chaturth, five is panch, six is shashta, seven is sapta, eight is ashta, nine is nava. These are basic roots.

These ten counting figures, these ten digits, Leibniz says are useless. And science must try to work with the minimum, so he tried to minimize the digits. But he could not minimize more than two, he had to stop at two. […] The moment you say one the two is implied, because one can exist only by the side of two. So the Upanishads never say that the Brahman is one, the truth is one; rather they use a negative term, they say he is not two. So one is implied but not directly asserted.

Secondly, about the total we cannot assert anything positive, we cannot say what it is. At the most we can say what it is not, we can negate. We cannot say directly, because once we say anything directly it becomes defining, it becomes a limitation. If you say one, then you have limited; then a boundary has been drawn, then it cannot be infinite. When you simply say it is not two there is no boundary – the implication is infinite.

The Upanishads say that the divine can be defined only by negatives, so they go on negating. They say, “This is not Brahman, that is not Brahman.” And they never say directly, they never assert directly. You cannot point to the Brahman with a finger because your finger will become a limitation. Then Brahman will be where your finger is pointing and nowhere else. You can point to the Brahman only with a closed fist so you are not pointing anywhere – or, everywhere.

This negativity created many confusions, particularly in the West, because when for the first time the West came upon the Upanishads in the last century and they were translated – first in German, then in English, and then French and other languages – it was a very baffling thought, because the Bible defines God positively. Jews, Christians, Mohammedans define God very positively, they say what he is. Hinduism defines God totally negatively; they say what he is not.

In the West this looked not very religious, because you cannot worship a negativity. You can worship only something positive; you can love only something positive, you can devote yourself only to something positive. How can you devote yourself to something which is simply a denial, a negativity, a neti neti, neither this nor that? You cannot make an idol of a negative Brahman. How can you make an idol of a negative Brahman?

That’s why Hindus conceived their highest conception of Brahman as Shivalinga. And people go on thinking that Shivalinga is just a phallic symbol. It is not just a phallic symbol, that is just one of its implications. Shivalinga is a symbol of zero, shunya, the negative. Shivalinga doesn’t define any image. There is no image on it – no face, no eyes, nothing; just a zero, not even one. And the zero can be infinite. Zero has no boundaries; it begins nowhere, it ends nowhere.

How can you worship a zero? How can you pray to a zero? But Hindus have totally a different conception. They say prayer is not really an address to God, because you cannot address anything to him. Where will you address him? – he is nowhere or everywhere. So prayer is not really some address; rather, on the contrary, prayer is your inner mutation. Hindus say you cannot pray, but you can be in a prayerful mood. So prayer is not something you can do, prayer is something you can only be.

And prayer is not for God, prayer is for you. You pray and through prayer you change. Nobody is listening to your prayer and nobody is going to help you, nobody is going to follow your prayer but just by praying your heart changes. Through prayer, if authentic, you become different – your assertion changes you.

In the south there is one old temple. If you go in the temple there is no deity; the place for the deity is vacant, empty. If you ask the priest, “Where is the deity? Whom to worship? And this is a temple – to whom does this temple belong? Who is the deity of this temple?” the priest will tell you, “This is the tradition of this temple – that we don’t have any deity. The whole temple is the deity. You cannot look for the deity in a particular direction. He is everywhere – that’s why the place is vacant.”

The whole universe is Brahman. And this is such a vast phenomenon that positive terms will only make it finite; hence negativity – it is one of the highest conceptions possible. And this negativity reached its most logical extreme in Buddha. He would not even negate. He said, “Even if you negate, indirectly you assert, and every assertion is blasphemy.”

Jews could have understood this. They have no name for God. Yahweh is not a name, it is just a symbol; or it means “the nameless.” And in the old Jewish world before Jesus, the name was not to be asserted by everybody. Only the chief priest in the temple of Solomon was allowed once a year to assert the name. So once a year all the Jews would gather together at the great temple of Solomon, and the highest priest would assert the name, Yahweh. And it is not a name, the very word means the nameless.

Nobody was allowed to assert the name, because how can the finite assert the infinite? And whatsoever you say will be wrong because you are wrong. Whatsoever you say belongs to you, it comes through you, you are present in it. So unless you had become so empty that you were no more, you were not allowed to assert the name. The highest priest was the man who had become just an emptiness, and to assert the name, for the whole year he would remain silent. He would prepare, he would become totally empty, no thought was allowed in the mind. For one year he would wait, prepare, become empty, become a nonentity, a nobody. When the right moment came he would stand just like an emptiness. The man was not there, there was nobody. The mind was not there. And then he would assert, Yahweh.

This tradition stopped because it became more and more difficult to find persons who could become nonentities, who could become nothingness, who could become anatta, nonbeing – who could destroy themselves so completely that God could assert through them, who could become just like a passage, just like a flute, empty, so that God could sing through it. […]

The Upanishads are negative about the Brahman. That’s why they say “the nondual,” that which is not two. Now we will enter the sutra:

The first stage, to which contentment and bliss impart sweetness, springs from the innermost recesses of the seeker’s heart.

As I said to you, the first is the feeling, the first is the heart. The first stage belongs to the heart and only the heart can know contentment and bliss. If you are in contact with your heart you will know contentment and bliss, just like sweet springs flowing towards you, filling you, overflooding you. But we don’t have the contact with the heart. The heart is beating, but we don’t have the contact.

You will have to understand it, because just by having a heart, don’t go on thinking that you are in contact with it. You are not in contact with many things in your body, you are just carrying your body. Contact means a deep sensitivity. You may not even feel your body. It happens that only when you are ill do you feel your body. There is a headache, then you feel the head; without the headache there is no contact with the head. There is pain in the leg, you become aware of the leg. You become aware only when something goes wrong.

If everything is okay you remain completely unaware, and really, that is the moment when contact can be made – when everything is okay – because when something goes wrong then that contact is made with illness, with something that has gone wrong, and the well-being is no more there. You have the head right now, then the headache comes, and you make the contact. The contact is made not with the head but with the headache. With the head contact is possible only when there is no headache, and the head is filled with a well-being. But we have almost lost the capacity. We don’t have any contact when we are okay. So our contact is just an emergency measure. There is a headache: some repair is needed, some medicine is needed, something has to be done, so you make the contact and do something.

Try to make contact with your body when everything is good. Just lie down on the grass, close the eyes, and feel the sensation that is going on within, the well-being that is bubbling. Lie down in a river. The water is touching the body and every cell is being cooled. Feel inside how that coolness enters cell by cell, goes deep into the body. The body is a great phenomenon, one of the miracles of nature.

Sit in the sun. Let the sunrays penetrate the body. Feel the warmth as it moves within, as it goes deeper, as it touches your blood cells and reaches to the very bones. And sun is life, the very source. So with closed eyes just feel what is happening. Remain alert, watch and enjoy. By and by you will become aware of a very subtle harmony, a very beautiful music continuously going on inside. Then you have the contact with the body; otherwise you carry a dead body.

It is just like this: a person who loves his car has a different type of contact and relationship with the car than a person who doesn’t. A person who doesn’t love his car goes on driving it and he treats it as a mechanism, but a person who loves his car will become aware of even the smallest change in the mood of the car, the finest change of sound. Something is changing in the car and suddenly he will become aware of it. No one else has heard it; the passengers are sitting there; they have not heard it. But a slight change in the sound of the engine, any clicking, any change, and the person who loves his car will become aware of it. He has a deep contact. He is not only driving, the car is not just a mechanism; rather he has spread himself into the car and he has allowed the car to enter him.

Your body can be used as a mechanism, then you need not be very sensitive about it. And the body goes on saying many things you never hear because you don’t have any contact […] You cannot detect it, and you are there living in the body. There is no contact. […]

So first try to be more and more sensitive about your body. Listen to it; it goes on saying many things, and you are so head-oriented you never listen to it. Whenever there is a conflict between your mind and body, your body is almost always going to be right more than your mind, because the body is natural, your mind is societal; the body belongs to this vast nature, and your mind belongs to your society, your particular society, age, time. Body has deep roots in existence, mind is just wavering on the surface. But you always listen to the mind, you never listen to the body. Because of this long habit contact is lost.

You have the heart, and heart is the root, but you don’t have any contact. First start having contact with the body. Soon you will become aware that the whole body vibrates around the center of the heart just as the whole solar system moves around the sun. Hindus have called the heart the sun of the body. The whole body is a solar system and moves around the heart. You became alive when the heart started beating, you will die when the heart stops beating. The heart remains the solar center of your body. Become alert to it. But you can become alert, by and by, only if you become alert to the whole body.

While hungry, why not meditate a little? – there is no hurry. While hungry just close your eyes and meditate on the hunger, on how the body is feeling. You may have lost contact, because our hunger is less bodily, more mental. You eat every day at one o’clock. You look at the watch; it is one – so then you feel hunger. And the clock may not be right. If somebody says, “That clock has stopped at midnight. It is not functioning. It is only eleven o’clock,” the hunger disappears. This hunger is false, this hunger is just habitual, because the mind creates it, not the body. Mind says, “One o’clock – you are hungry.” You have to be hungry. You have always been hungry at one o’clock, so you are hungry.

Our hunger is almost ninety-nine percent habitual. Go on a fast for a few days to feel real hunger, and you will be surprised. For the first three or four days you will feel very hungry. On the fourth or fifth day you will not feel so hungry. This is illogical, because as the fast grows you should feel more and more hungry. But after the third day you will feel less hungry, and after the seventh day you may completely forget hunger. After the eleventh day almost everybody forgets hunger completely and the body feels absolutely okay. Why? And if you continue the fast . . . Those who have done much work on fasting say that only after the twenty-first day will real hunger happen again.

So it means that for three days your mind was insisting that you were hungry because you had not taken food, but it was not hunger. Within three days the mind gets fed up with telling you; you are not listening; you are so indifferent. On the fourth day the mind doesn’t say anything, the body doesn’t feel hunger. For three weeks you will not feel hunger, because you have accumulated so much fat – that fat will do. You will feel hunger only after the third week. And this is for normal bodies. If you have too much fat accumulated you may not feel hungry even after the third week. And there is a possibility to accumulate enough fat to live on for three months, ninety days. When the body is finished with the accumulated fat, then for the first time real hunger will be felt. But it will be difficult. You can try with thirst, that will be easy. For one day don’t take water, and wait. Don’t drink out of habit, just wait and see what thirst means, what thirst would mean if you were in a desert.

Lawrence of Arabia has written in his memoirs: “For the first time in my life, when I was once lost in the desert, I became aware of what thirst is – because before that there was no need. Whenever my mind said, ‘Now you are thirsty,’ I took water. In the desert, lost, no water with me and no way to find an oasis, for the first time I became thirsty. And that thirst was something wonderful – the whole of the body, every cell, asking for water. It became a phenomenon.” If you take water in that type of thirst, it will give you a contentment that you cannot know just by drinking through habit. […]

First one has to become deeply aware of this phenomenon of the body. A revival of the body, a resurrection, is needed – you are carrying a dead body. Then only will you feel, by and by, that the whole body with all its desires, thirsts and hungers, is revolving around the heart. Then the beating heart is not only a mechanism, it is the beating life, it is the very pulsation of life. That pulsation gives contentment and bliss.

Contentment and bliss impart sweetness.

Your whole being becomes sweet, a sweetness surrounds you, it becomes your aura. Whenever a person is in contact with his heart you will immediately fall in love with him. Immediately, the moment you see him, you will fall in love with him. you don’t know why. He has a sweetness around him. That sweetness your mind may not be able to detect, but your heart detects it immediately. He has an aura. The moment you come into his aura you are intoxicated. You feel a longing for him, you feel an attraction, a magnetic force working. You may not be consciously aware of what is happening; you may simply say, “I don’t know why I am attracted,” but this is the reason. A person who lives in his heart has a milieu around him of sweetness – sweetness flows around him. You are flooded with it whenever you are in contact with that person.

Buddha, Jesus, attracted millions of people, and the reason is that they lived in the heart; otherwise it was impossible. What Buddha demanded was impossible. Thousands of people left their homes, became beggars with him, moved with him in all types of sufferings, austerities, and enjoyed it. This is a miracle. And those who left their homes were rich, affluent people, because India knew the golden age in the time of Buddha. It was at its highest peak of richness. Just as America is today, India was at that moment. At that moment the West was just wild; no civilization existed really. The West was totally uncivilized at the time of Buddha, and India was at its golden peak.

Buddha attracted millions of people who were rich, living in comfort, and they moved and became beggars. What filled them, what attracted them, what was the cause? Even they couldn’t explain what the cause was. This is the cause: whenever a person of heart is there, a person who lives in his heart, he imparts around him vibrations of sweetness. Just being in his presence, being near him, you feel a sudden joy for no visible cause. He is not giving you anything, he is not giving you any physical comfort. On the contrary, he may lead you into physical discomfort; through him you may have to pass through many sufferings – but you will enjoy those sufferings.

Buddha was dying, and Ananda, his disciple, was weeping. So Buddha said, “Why are you weeping?”

Ananda said, “With you I can move on this earth, millions of times I can be reborn and it will not be a suffering. I can suffer everything. Just if you are there, then this sansar, which you call dukkha, suffering, is no more suffering – but without you even nirvana will not be blissful.”

Such a sweetness surrounded Buddha, such a sweetness surrounded Jesus, such a sweetness surrounded Saint Francis, such a sweetness surrounds all those who have lived through the heart. Their charisma is that they live in their heart.

Jesus was not a very learned man; he was just a villager; he remained a carpenter’s son. He was talking in people’s ways, ordinary parables. If someone gives you Jesus’ parables, his statements, without saying that these belong to Jesus, you will throw the book, you will never read it again. But he influenced people, impressed so much, that Christianity became the greatest religion of the world. Half the earth belongs now to Christianity, to a carpenter’s son who was not educated, not cultured. What is this mystery? How did it happen? […]

The first stage, to which contentment and bliss impart sweetness, springs from the innermost recesses of the seeker’s heart, as if nectar has issued forth from the heart of the Earth.  At the inception of this stage the innermost recess becomes a field for the coming of the other stages. Afterwards the seeker attains the second and third stages. Of the three, the third is the highest, because on its attainment all the modifications of will come to an end.

All the modifications of will come to an end. The third is the highest. And the reason? Let it penetrate deep in your heart. The third is the highest. Why? – because all the modifications of will come to an end. Your will is the cause of your ego. You think you can do something; you think you will do something; you think you have got willpower, you think that there is a possibility for you to struggle with existence and win. Will means the attitude to fight, the attitude to conquer, the attitude to struggle. Will is the force of violence in you. […]

Will is your impotence. Because of will you are defeated, because you are doing something absolutely absurd, something which cannot happen. When you leave will, only then will you be powerful. When there is no will you have become potent. Omnipotent also you can become when there is no will, because then you are one with the universe, then the whole universe is your power.

With the will you are a fragment fighting with the whole existence, with such a small quantity of energy. And that energy is also given by the universe. The universe is so playful that it even allows you to fight with it, it gives you the energy. The universe gives you the breath, the universe gives you the life, and enjoys your fighting. It is just as a father enjoys fighting with a child and challenges the child to fight. The child starts fighting and the father falls down and helps the child to win. This is a game for the father. The child may be serious, may get mad; he will think, “I have conquered.”

In the West this childishness has become the source of many miseries: Hiroshima, Nagasaki, the two world wars, were because of this will. Science should not be any more the conquest of nature. Science must now become the way towards nature – surrender to nature, not conquest of nature. And unless science becomes Taoist – surrender to nature – science is going to eliminate the whole of humanity from this earth. This planet will be destroyed by science. And science can destroy only because science has become associated with this absurd notion of conquest.

Man has willpower. Every will is against nature, your will is against nature. When you can say totally, “Not mine, but your will should be done” – “your” means the divine, the totality, the wholeness – for the first time you become powerful. But this power doesn’t belong to you, you are just a passage. This power belongs to the cosmos.

The third is the highest, because all the modifications of will come to an end. Not only the will but the modifications – because will can get modified. We saw that the Upanishad divides desirelessness, non-attachment, in two parts. First, when you make effort to be nonattached – that too is a modification of the will. You struggle, you control, you detach yourself, you make all the efforts to remain a witness. Those efforts to remain a witness belong to your will, so really that is not real non-attachment, just a rehearsal; not real, just a training ground.

Non-attachment will become real only in the second stage, when even this struggle to be a witness has dropped; when even the idea that “I am a witness” has dropped, when there is no more conflict between you and existence. No more any conflict, you simply flow with it.

Lao Tzu is reported to have said, “I struggled hard but I was defeated again and again, fortunately.” He says, “Fortunately I was defeated again and again. No effort succeeded, and then I realized – against whom am I fighting? Against myself I am fighting, against the greater part of my own being I am fighting. It is as if my hand is fighting against my body, and the hand belongs to the body. It can fight, but the hand has the energy through the body.” Lao Tzu says, “When I realized that I am part of this cosmos, that I am not separate – the cosmos breathes in me, lives in me, and I am fighting it – then the fight dropped. Then I became like a dead leaf.”

Why like a dead leaf? – because the dead leaf has no will of her own. The wind comes, takes the dead leaf; the dead leaf goes with the wind. The wind is going north, the dead leaf doesn’t say, “I want to go to the south.” The dead leaf goes to the north. Then the wind changes its course, starts flowing towards the south. The dead leaf doesn’t say, “You are contradictory. First you were going to the north, now you are going to the south. Now I want to go to the north.” No, that leaf doesn’t say anything. She moves to south, she moves to north, and if the wind stops she falls down on the ground and rests. She doesn’t say, “This was not the right time for me to rest.” When the wind raises her into the sky the dead leaf doesn’t say, “I am the peak of existence.” When she falls to the ground she is not frustrated. A dead leaf simply has no will of her own. “Thy will be done.” She moves with the wind, wheresoever it leads. She has got no goal, she has no purpose of her own.

Lao Tzu says, “When I became like a dead leaf, then everything was achieved. Then there was nothing to be achieved any more. Then all bliss became mine.”

All the modifications of will come to an end. One who practices the three stages finds his ignorance dead, and on entering the fourth stage he sees everything, everywhere, equally.

Two things: One who practices these three stages finds his ignorance dead. Your ignorance cannot become dead by accumulating knowledge. You can accumulate all the knowledge available in the world, you can become an Encyclopedia Britannica, but that won’t help. You can become a walking encyclopedia, but your ignorance will not be dead through that. Rather, on the contrary, your ignorance will become hidden, secret; it will move to the deep recesses of the heart. So on the surface you will be knowledgeable and deep down you will remain ignorant. This is what has happened, and all the universities go on helping this.

Your ignorance is never dead; it is alive, working. And just on the surface you are decorated, you are a painted being. Your knowledge is painted just on the surface and deep down you remain ignorant. The knowledge, real knowledge, can happen only when the ignorance is dead. Before that, knowledge will remain information – borrowed, not yours, not authentic – it has not happened to you. It is not a lived experience, but only words, verbal, scriptural.

And ignorance can become dead only when you practice these first three stages, because ignorance is a mode of life, not a question of information. It is a way of life, a wrong way of life, that creates ignorance. It is not just a question of memory, of how much you know, or how much you don’t know – that is not the point. […] Jesus became enlightened and Pontius Pilate remained ignorant. He was more cultured than Jesus, more educated; he had all the education that was possible. He was the governor general, the viceroy, he knew whatsoever could be known through books. And in the last moment before Jesus was sent to the cross, he asked him a very philosophical question.

Nietzsche wrote about Pontius Pilate, because Nietzsche was always against Jesus. When he became mad in the end – and he was bound to become mad because his whole way of life, the whole style was madness – he started signing his signature as “Anti-Christ, Friedrich Nietzsche.” He would never sign his signature without writing before it “Anti-Christ.” He was absolutely against Jesus. He says that only Pontius Pilate was the man who knew, and Jesus was simply an ignorant carpenter’s son. And the reason that he proposes is that in the last moment before Jesus went to the cross, Pontius Pilate asked him, “What is truth?” This is one of the most significant philosophical questions which has always been asked, and philosophers enjoy answering it – but nobody has answered yet. To Nietzsche Jesus looks foolish. He writes that when Pontius Pilate asked Jesus, “What is truth?” he was asking precisely the peak question, the sole question, the ultimate question, the base of all philosophy, the base of all inquiry – and Jesus remained silent.

Nietzsche says that was because in the first place Jesus would not have understood what Pontius Pilate meant, and secondly, he could not answer because he didn’t know what truth is. He was ignorant, that’s why he remained silent. And I say to you, he remained silent because he knew, and he knew well that this question can never be answered verbally.

Pontius Pilate was foolish – educated, well-educated, but foolish – because this question cannot be asked in such a way, and it cannot be answered when a person is going to be hanged. For the answer to this question Pontius Pilate would have had to live with Jesus for years, because the whole life has to be transformed, only then can the answer be given. Or the transformed life itself becomes the answer, there is no need to give it.

Jesus remained silent, that shows he was a wise man. Had he given any answer, to me he would have proved that he was ignorant. Even Jesus’ followers became a little uncomfortable, because they thought that had he answered Pontius Pilate, and had Pilate been convinced that his answer was true, there would have been no crucifixion. But crucifixion is better than answering a foolish question with a foolish answer. Crucifixion is always better than that. And Jesus chose crucifixion rather than answering this foolish question . . . because such questions need a mutation in life; you have to work upon yourself.

Truth is not something which can be handed over to you. You will have to raise your consciousness; you will have to come to the climax of your being. Only from there the glimpse becomes possible. And when you die completely to your ego, truth is revealed, never before. It is not a philosophical inquiry, it is a religious transformation.

One who practices the three stages finds his ignorance dead, and on entering the fourth stage he sees everything, everywhere, equally. At that moment he is so strongly embedded in the experience of nonduality – advaita – that the experience itself disappears.

This is a very subtle and delicate point. Let it go deep in your heart. He is so embedded in the fourth stage . . . After the three stages the fourth follows automatically. The three have to be practiced, the three have to be deeply rooted in your being through your effort – the fourth happens. Suddenly you become aware that there is nonduality, only one exists – one being, one existence.

He is so strongly embedded in the experience of advaita – nonduality – that the experience itself disappears.

. . . Because for experience to exist, duality is needed. So the Upanishads say you cannot experience God. If you experience God, then the God remains separate and you remain separate, because only the other can be experienced. Experience divides. This is the deepest message of all the Upanishads: experience divides . . . because whenever you say experience it means there are three things: the experiencer, the experienced, and the relationship between the two, the experience.

The Upanishads say that God cannot be known, because knowledge divides the knower, the known and the knowledge. If really you have become one, how can you experience? So even the experience disappears. The Upanishads say a person who claims he has experienced the divine is false, his claim proves that he is false. A knower cannot claim, one who has really experienced the divine cannot claim, because the very experience disappears. Buddha says again and again, “Don’t ask me what I have experienced. If I say anything then I am not true. Rather come near me, and you also go through the experience.” […]

Buddha says, “Experience – and you cannot even claim that you have experienced.” . . . Because who will experience? There is no other. Who will experience whom? Even the experience itself disappears. There is nothing like God-experience; it is only in the minds of the ignorant. The knowers know that God disappears and the I disappears, the duality disappears. Knowing is there, but the knower is not and the known is not.

Because of this Mahavira has used a beautiful word. He calls it kaivalya gyan; he calls it, “Only knowing remains” – only knowing, neither the known nor the knower. You disappear, the God you were seeking disappears, because really the God you were seeking was created by you. It was your ignorance that was seeking. Your God was part of your ignorance. It is bound to be. How can you seek the real God? You don’t know it.

You project your God through your ignorance, you seek it. All your heavens are part of your ignorance. All your truths are part of your ignorance. You seek them and then your ignorance disappears. When your ignorance disappears where will those gods remain who were created by your ignorance? They will also disappear.

It happened: when Rinzai became enlightened, he asked for a cup of tea. His disciples said, “This seems to be profane.”

And he said, “The whole thing was foolishness: the seeking, the seeker, the sought. The whole thing was foolishness. You just give me a cup of tea! None existed. The seeker was false, the sought was false, so of course the seeking was false. It was a cosmic joke.”

That’s why I say there is no purpose – God is joking with you. The moment you can understand the joke you are enlightened. Then the whole thing becomes a play, even the experience disappears.

Thus, on attaining the fourth stage the seeker finds the world as illusory as a dream. So while the first three stages are called waking ones, the fourth is dreaming.

When the fourth stage is attained, when even God disappears, when the God-seeker, the worshipper disappears, this whole world becomes like a dream. Not that it is not there – it is there, but like a dream; it has no substantiality in it. It is a mental phenomenon; it is a thought process. You enjoy it, you live in it, but you know that this is all a dream.

This is the Hindu concept of the world; they say it is a dream in the mind of God. It is just as when you dream in the night; when you dream you can create a reality in the dream, and you never suspect that this is a dream and you are the creator. The beauty is this – that you are the creator, you are the projector, and you cannot suspect that it is just a dream. Hindus say that as there are private dreams, individual dreams, this is the collective dream – God dreaming the world. You are a dream object in the God’s dream. We take dreams to be real, and Hindus say the reality is a dream.

I will tell you one anecdote.

Once it happened, Mulla Nasruddin was fast asleep with his wife in bed. The wife started dreaming; she had a very beautiful dream. One charming young man was making love to her, and she was enjoying it very much. She was old, ugly, and he was a very charming young prince, and she was enjoying it.

Suddenly in the dream, when she was enjoying the lovemaking, Mulla Nasruddin entered from the roof – in the dream. She became afraid. She became so afraid and disturbed that she said loudly, “My God, my husband!” She said it so loudly that Mulla heard it and jumped out of the window. He thought he was sleeping with some other woman.

Our dreams are realities for us. For the Upanishads, our reality is just a dream.

-Osho

From Vedanta: Seven Steps to Samadhi, Discourse #12

Copyright © OSHO International Foundation

An MP3 audio file of this discourse can be downloaded from Osho.com or you can read the entire book online at the Osho Library.

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You have to Work for the Fulfillment of Your Destiny – Dada Gavand

I first met Dadaji in Pune in the fall of 1993, shortly after my return from Germany where, for a few weeks, I had tried in vain to become a “normal” citizen again. I had been feeling stuck and disillusioned with my spirituality for some time. My search had neither direction nor drive. I felt I needed a teacher who could understand my predicament, provide a fresh impulse for continuing the journey, and offer support, encouragement, and guidance.

In these circumstances, I met an old friend of mine in the Osho commune who had been a disciple of Osho for many years. With a joyous twinkle in her eyes, she invited me to meet a new teacher at her home on the premises of the ashram. I gladly accepted the invitation – surprised and excited that such a meeting could actually take place within the commune, which did not welcome other teachers to hold meetings on the grounds.

Before she introduced me to Dadaji, she told me that, in contrast to Osho’s emphasis on living together with the teacher in his commune as a device for generating growth and higher consciousness, Dadaji taught, “The best practice is to be alone.” Such a teaching seemed quite in line with my natural inclination toward sitting practices; the sadhana of Buddhist vipassana and Zazen meditation had proved very beneficial for me. Although they hadn’t led to final enlightenment, they definitely were quieting the chatter of my mind and making me deeply aware of the impermanence of everything that arises and exists – including my thoughts, my feelings, my body, and the world around me.

I followed my friend into Dadaji’s room, and instantly my whole being was permeated with such an exquisite and peaceful vibration that my mind went into a complete standstill. Heavenly silence soaked with stark presence melted away any sense of unfamiliarity and separation. Though I continued walking my feet seemed not to touch the marble floor; I felt as if I were levitating.

And then I saw him! He was sitting cross-legged and motionless on a bed with a white cover. He had a long white beard and his thin, shoulder-length hair was white as well. From underneath the white shawl that covered his torso, his folded hands greeted me in namaste while is eyes emanated radiant love. His being brimmed with presence.

As I moved slowly toward the bed, my heart began to fill with love and devotion, and I witnessed my body kneeling down in front of him as if moved by a divine power. My own namaste met his silence while our eyes gazed into and through each other into the beyond.

Then, light as a feather, my head – face down – began to sink onto the bed until it could find rest. At the same time, my hands stretched – unintended – finding, touching and holding on to Dadaji’s feet. From his feet, heat and energy flowed into my hands, arms and body. Soon I felt his warm and benevolent hands touching my head and resting there. A deep sense of timelessness, peace, and presence filled the space. No one moved, and not a word was spoken.

After what seemed like an eternity, our “divine embrace” loosened. I, still kneeling, straightened up slowly and bowed in namaste again. With the sweetest and most loving smile, Dadaji beckoned me with a gesture to sit down on one of the cushions on the floor near his bed. I sat, crossed my legs, closed my eyes, and rested my hands gently in my lap. By now only the two of us were in the room.

After an hour or so, I heard my friend quietly announce that Dadaji’s dinner was ready. I opened my eyes and saw Dadaji smiling at me. “Come tomorrow!” he said – the only words spoken in this first encounter.

Prior to his return to Thane, near Mumbai, I went to Dadaji’s house to visit him several times. Sometimes I was alone with him; at other times, a few other seekers were present.

The following account of our second meeting is reconstructed from memory. I began our conversation by relating the main stages of my spiritual odyssey up to that point and expressing my disenchantment with my life as a seeker.

Madhukar: I find myself in a state of disillusionment. I wish I could let go of this whole madness of searching for enlightenment. If only I could drop the search! I don’t want to be a seeker anymore. I want to just be normal. I want to live ordinarily and in peace.

Dadaji: I understand. You have come to a point when it is best for you to be on your own, to be alone. There is no need for you to visit any guru anymore. You don’t need to listen to them any longer. It is time for you to start to go within.

Madhukar: Are you suggesting practice and formal meditation?

Dadaji: You need to be alone! In aloneness, you begin to watch every incoming thought. You will come to understand that the past is nothing but the “I.” With the preservation of the “I,” the past continues. When you discover the deceptions of the “I” — which is the mind – your journey toward the spirit begins.

In this innerness, in this inner attentiveness, you will watch every thought, idea, and desire that comes into the mind. If you continue to stay in that inner space of observation, the activity of the mind will quiet down. Through constant, unmotivated looking within, you can step out of the field of thought.

Madhukar: Can I do what you suggest in the company of my lady friend? Can sitting and meditating in her company also be beneficial? Or are you saying that physical seclusion is the only way to support meditation?

Dadaji: You have to decide once and for all to make all your energy available for the meeting with what I call the spirit. Once you have decided, you need to concentrate all your energies towards this watchfulness. Then proceed slowly and quietly and discover what meditation is. Attention without thought is meditation. Slowly through watchful attention, you step out of the field of mind. You will be able to act without the prompting of thought and desire. And that freedom from desire is being in the present. That freedom is in the now.

You should work with all your understanding, senses, and energy and less with the thought and desire for activity. Do not choose to be motivated by desire! Choose not to discriminate between good and bad. It is the mind that gives labels. The best practice is being alone.

Madhukar: As I said earlier, I just want to be finished with the spirituality trip. But somehow I am not able to walk out of it. The search seems to continue in spite of my desire to drop it.

Dadaji: There are two things. One: you have come to the point at which it is made clear to you that you have to leave all gurus behind. You have to understand that nothing can be gained from outside or from other people. You alone have the means within yourself to discover and experience that quality we call the spirit.

Two: The search will keep hold of you until you have experienced the Divinity. How can we experience the quality that is the spirit, the soul, the Divinity? We never ask this question quietly in the depth of our being . We always hope to find the spirit outside, via someone else or something else. Gather all your energies! Go directly to the core, to that center in which the whole secret and mystery of life lies. To be with the inner spirit, you have to be really alone and anonymous.

Madhukar: But being alone and meditating doesn’t stop the mind either. That is my experience so far.

Dadaji: Only through watchfulness will you be able to see and know the mind completely. The whole secret of spiritual life is to understand the inadequacy of the mind and its thoughts, and to be free of them. This imaginative and desirous mind can be eliminated only through watchfulness and understanding. Thought activity and the thought process are blocking the incoming spirit. Not seeing this clearly as a fact is the main hindrance to realization of the spirit.

The more you stay in that inner attentiveness, the more you will become free from all the reactions of the known, the past – which is the mind. Then one faces the unknown, and the energy becomes pure and sensitive. This energy is then free from all ideas and desires, which are born out of the past.

Madhukar: How can I get out of my own way?

Dadaji: On the one hand, the “I” is the mind that seeks the spirit. On the other hand, the “I” is the cumulative effect of the whole past. The elimination of the past is freedom from the mind, which is the seeker. And as the seeker himself is dissolved, all seeking comes to an end. At that point, living becomes the experiencing of the total moment, and times merges into the timeless. To discover this eternal moment and live in it anonymously is the beginning and the end of all human searches.

Madhukar: Right now I can feel this timeless and eternal moment here with you. I wish this feeling would remain for all time, everywhere, and for everybody [a long beautiful moment of silence and peace ensued].

Dadaji: We are living in a very crucial period of human history. Nature expects beings to change a great deal. This dimensional change, which is the discovery of the beyond, is the challenge of our time.

I gave Dadaji’s teachings a lot of reflection. I knew from my own experience how important single-pointed focus on practice is. His tenet, “To be in the present is freedom from desire” was quite often my own experience, but when this state occurred, it was short-lived. According to Dadaji, this situation would change for the better if only I would leave my partner and be alone. But I had strong reservations about this suggestion. True, the time spent with my partner I could instead be spending it in meditation. However, I felt I did meditate enough and, as far as I could see, my relationship was not blocking my spiritual growth. My partner and I meditated together regularly and thus were supporting each other. Furthermore, during my practices I was alone anyway – with or without a partner. I was convinced that enlightenment did not require complete solitude.

Secondly, I really enjoyed investigating my true nature in the presence of teachers as well as by myself. In short, I was not willing to let go of the opportunity to deepen my understanding through communion with the teachers that I was meeting. I wanted to keep my ongoing inquiry as open as possible.

Therefore, it didn’t surprise me that it was almost three years before I met Dadaji again.

In April 1996, I took Sunderam, Sri Annamalai Swami’s personal assistant and interpreter, to meet Dadaji in Thane. Another friend of mine, Mr. Gurudayal, accompanied us. The following conversation was video-recorded at Dadaji’s residence.

Madhukar: I heard that you met Ramana Maharshi while he was alive, could you say something about your meeting with him?

Dadaji: Yes, I have been to Arunachala. I visited Bhagavan when he was still in his body. I stayed with him for three days at a time when I was wandering all over India. I asked him a few questions. I also took food with him. I don’t remember exactly the year of my visit.

Madhukar: So in the early years of your search, you were also visiting various teachers, just as I do today. Is that correct?

Dadaji: There is always a time in one’s life when one has to wander and see and understand the wise people. In my time of wandering, I went to Bhagavan. I came to realize, however, that we cannot really learn much from others. What we look for is not to be found outside of ourselves but within ourselves. But as long as the mind is wandering and curious about outside things, you will never get satisfied. And even when that thirst for realization is there, you have to wait for it to become strong. Only when it is strong can you enter into yourself.

Madhukar: I feel I have that thirst for realization you are talking about, but . . .

Dadaji: All that you want is inside you. But we never generate enough power within ourselves. We go out all the time; our energy goes out. But you must realize that nobody can give you anything on a platter. Let me repeat: You will get nothing from outside. This is the real secret of life.

There are people who have realized their reality, found their own Self. But they have discovered it within themselves, by their own effort. They didn’t get if from outside. Such people are rare. They are beautiful.

Madhukar: People like Ramana Maharshi  . . .

Dadaji: When Ramana lived at Arunachala, he stayed most of the time in the mandir [hall]. He didn’t go much here and there. He didn’t go to get something from others. This is what is called tapasya [intense practice] – the inward search, the inward questioning. That inwardness is very rare in life.

As long as you don’t see the futility of that kind of search, your search will not come to an end. But let me tell you, realization will take time.

Madhukar: What is the real hindrance to realization?

Dadaji: At all times, the mind is eager to look outward. It is always trying, searching, moving. All this activity of the mind is the real hindrance to realization. As long as the mind is active in looking outside itself and is focused outward, there is no chance for realization.

You must realize that all that is important in spirituality is within you. But you never come to that “inner.” You never come to that inner with your total energy of life, with your totality. You are halfway here, halfway there; halfway in, halfway out. When all that outer focus comes to the inner, we realize that the key to realization lies hidden within ourselves. And that innerness is all we really want from life.

Gurudayal: Is it destined that some people become seekers? And is it destined whether we will become enlightened or not? In my opinion, it must be destined because not everybody can achieve the inwardness you talk about. Perhaps a few souls like you were destined to realize the Self.

Dadaji: What is destiny?

Gurudayal: All our efforts are futile – that’s destiny.

Dadaji: Who says effort is futile? First you adopt the idea of destiny and then you expect everything from it – too much, too soon. What is destiny? What created destiny? Who created destiny? Who has created your destiny? The concept that realization happens through destiny is just a convenient idea.

You must create the situation in which realization can happen. Somehow you are here at this place in this life to make a beginning for realization to happen – somewhere, sometime. Some people have done this; they have come to that realized state by practicing.

Gurudayal: But some teachers say that realization happened in their case because it was destined.

Dadaji: Such a teaching makes their students think that realization can be obtained without doing anything for it. But let me tell you again: There is no such thing as destiny! Realization happened to some individuals because they have worked hard for that goal for some time, somewhere. It happened for them because of their own effort.

Gurudayal: There is something in a person that makes them an artist or a musician. What is that “something”?

Dadaji: In order to become an artist or a musician, one has to work. Practice – not destiny – makes people masters in their field. They had to do all kinds of practices for a long time for that to happen. If someone attains mastership in a short time, it means that he or she has had some experience with it in an earlier life or lives. They were not simply born into this present life without any responsibility to work to develop the talents that were seeded in another life.

Madhukar: But wasn’t their birth also predestined?

Dadaji: Birth doesn’t alone create your destiny. Unless you really work for it, your destiny will not be created. You have to work for the fulfillment of your destiny.

Gurudayal: Fulfillment because of destiny or because of personal free will and effort? This is the only point that is not clear to me.

Dadaji: Where are we? What do we really want? Let us ask, “Are we really working for realization? Are we really hungry for spiritual fulfillment?” No! Many of us have only a lukewarm interest in that: many of us have only a superficial curiosity, and the mind takes over and plays with it. But those who are really hungry, passionately hungry for realization, will approach that hunger in a different way than those who are only interested, curious, and excited about enlightenment. The latter want realization without having to work for it. On the other hand, the ones who “arrive” worked very differently – they worked hard for their realization to occur. They are of a different breed. So, don’t wait for destiny to make realization happen to you! You have to create the situation in which this transformation can take place.

Sunderam: Yesterday and this morning, I went to see Ramesh Balsekar. He is a guru who is teaching Advaita Vedanta in Bombay. He was mostly talking about destiny. I told him that I took care of my guru, Annamalai Swami, for twenty years, but enlightenment I still do not have, it hasn’t happened to me yet. Balsekar replied, “Unless . . . ”

Dadaji: . . . it is destined . . . No! No!

Sunderam: “. . . it is will not happen.” He said to me, “Just live your normal life. If enlightenment is predestined for you, it will happen. You do not need to worry about it.”

Dadaji: Some people talk that way.

Sunderam: If the guru only stresses destiny, the seekers will not make an effort and they become lazy. I think people will not be helped by this approach.

Dadaji: Listening to such talk, people will become fatalists. They will only wish for the fate that enlightenment is going to happen to them. They will not work for it. Destiny is just a word, a concept There is no such thing as a destiny that falls on us from somewhere.

Sunderam: Balsekar kept repeating, “Unless it is God’s will, enlightenment will not happen. No practice and effort will help it to occur.”

Dadaji: Who will give enlightenment? Does this mean that unless it is given, it will not happen? Are there some preferences by means of divine will? Is there a God with His preferences? Does He give enlightenment to some people and not to others? If so, God must be a partial person then – no? Do you think that God is such a partial person?

Madhukar: You indicate very clearly that the occurrence of enlightenment mainly depends on the seeker’s practice.

Dadaji: Absolutely. If you work with your whole intensity and with your whole life energy for something to happen, it has to happen, and it will happen. In that case, nobody is going to be refused by anybody. Nobody can halt such an effort. But you must be ready to pay the full price for what you want.

It is like scaling Mt. Everest. To reach the top, you really have to work hard for it. Those people who reach the summit have to pay a price. They don’t reach it by sitting at home. They don’t reach it because it is destined that somebody else will take them there. No way! If you wait for that, you might just keep sitting where you are without ever reaching even the bottom of Mt. Everest.

Gurudayal: Don’t you think the body-mind organism called Sunderam was destined to visit you? Sunderam wasn’t aware of your existence until yesterday.

Dadaji: No, he wasn’t. But his appearance in front of me is not caused by destiny. His visit to me was not predestined. Why do you call it destined?

Gurudayal: Well, destiny many be just a word . . .

Dadaji: [To Sunderam] How did you come here? How did you hear about me? Don’t think so much of destiny! The fact is that you have come. And that happened because you were moving with Mr. Gurudayal from his house to my house. It happened because you were interested in meeting me.

[To Gurudayal] And you had the interest to bring Sunderam to me. That’s how our meeting happened.

[To Sunderam] Don’t you have an interest in visiting wise men?

Sunderam: Yes, I am interested to see enlightened beings.

Dadaji: That’s what it is! Unless you have that interest, you will not come to visit me.

Gurudayal: Swamiji, I agree that the eagerness and desire to meet you arises only if such an interest exits in him, but I believe that that interest is not his choice. Didn’t the interest just come to him one fine day? Isn’t that what destiny is?

Dadaji: Why does he have this interest? If he had been interested in music, he would have become a musician. [To Sunderam] And if you were interested in music, you would have visited musicians in Bombay, wouldn’t you? You would not be visiting wise men.

Gurudayal: But is it really in our power to choose which interest we have or are going to have? My real question is, “Is it up to us and is it in our power to have the interest in spirituality?”

Dadaji: What gives power to your quest, sir? Isn’t it your interest? What will satisfy your interest, your longing? Your hunger for spirituality. You give all these mysterious names to this simple fact of life. We make so much fuss about it. If you have a real interest and a real desire to meet a wise man, you will. If you have no interest and you refuse to visit a person, nobody will take you to him or her against your own wish. And there will be no meeting. It has nothing to do with destiny.

Sunderam: I remember, Osho said in a discourse . . .

Dadaji: Ah! Oh, God! Don’t tell me what he has said! Don’t listen to all these people! So many people say so many things! And you go to all of them. This is how you are deceived – because Osho said this, because that man said that, because that saint said this and that . . .

Sunderam: The scary fact is . . .

Dadaji: What about you? Find out about your “inner”! Of what use is it to listen to all these people and what they say? Enough of all these things now! You are caught up in the opinions of all these people. Osho is quoted. Ramana Maharshi has said . . . Krishnamurti proclaimed . . . These people may have realized something in their own way, yes. Now your challenge is to discover that realization in your own personal way. That’s important. But you never come to that.

Sunderam: I simply want to learn from these teachers That’s why I visit them.

Dadaji: You are always carried away by the images and ideas of other people. And you are hooked to their opinions. That is the problem. As long as you live with the opinions of others, you will never have the realization of your own inner understanding. But you have to work for that. You have to wait for that. Then realization can happen within yourself. And it will be your experience. Then you will not quote what other people have said.

These people carried out their mission. On the other hand, you keep yourself busy playing with their opinions and their findings. By doing so, you become only a second-hand individual. You don’t need to do that. Be what you are. If you have the interest to know what you really are, pursue that interest. Do something! Find! Go and pay the price for it! But you don’t!

Madhukar: Are you urging us to go beyond word, beyond the mind and concepts?

Dadaji: Mind is so clever. It is just making words after words. By doing so, it is fragmenting and dividing itself. It keeps asking: “Why this? Why that? Doesn’t this guru say so and so? Doesn’t that wise man say that?”

You don’t see this factor. You don’t see how you are caught up in the opinions of other people. To have an opinion about something does not mean you have an understanding about it. You can collect the opinions of all the wise men in the world, and you will remain ignorant.

Madhukar: More important that any intellectual understanding is experience – and more so the lasting experience of peace.

Dadaji: Yes, experiencing is something different. Only that inner experiencing is the real understanding. Opinions are merely concepts in the mind. Realization is not an idea.

You are already fragmented human beings. And by playing with other people’s ideas and philosophies, you get yourself even more divided.

Madhukar: But there are different stages on the spiritual journey and . . .

Dadaji: Yes, yes, I understand. At the beginning of the search, there is a little curiosity and an interest in finding out what spirituality is all about. Finding out what, and where – in books? From other people? Finally, the searching has to lead to yourself. There is a place, a seat, within yourself where you can find and realize what you were looking for. Your own realization will be your own wisdom about life. Then you will not be bothered by the opinions of other people. But you don’t want to do what is necessary for that to occur; you don’t want to pay the price, nor do you have the necessary patience.

Gurudayal: Guruji, what actually is realization?

Dadaji: Realization means to realize the truth. It means to actually experience the truth within ourselves.

Gurudayal: And what is the truth? 

Dadaji: What do you want? An explanation of the word? Truth is what is real.

Gurudayal: What are we? What is real in us? What is the truth in us?

Dadaji: We are whatever is real. What is it that is real? The answer is: experiencing the real – the realization of That, of the “inner.”

To have concepts and ideas about this is not enough. Concepts and ideas are part of the thought process. It is the mind that has concepts and ideas. But it is life itself that realizes, knows, and understands the truth.

That is all.

It was already my experience that the activity of the mind did quiet down when I stayed in the inner space of observation and witnessing. Only through witnessing or self-inquiry was I able to see and know the mind more clearly and understand its inadequacy. But to be free of the thoughts it kept generating necessitated more practice on my part. Therefore, I felt deeply met and supported by Dadaji’s insistence on rigorous practice.

“Freedom from desire is to be in the present,” Dadaji taught, and I knew that that freedom was only available in the now. How could I aways be in the present moment? I couldn’t! But in my meditation sadhana and in my self-inquiry practice, presence remained each time the thought process came to a stop through awareness. More freedom from the mind meant more presence. I felt grateful for Dadaji’s simple equation, which is congruent with my own experience.

This time, Dadaji’s persistent suggestion to leave all teachers behind and be on my own struck a chord in me. Even before meeting Dadaji, I knew that the day was not far off when I would be alone on my odyssey. But did Dadaji want me to remain without any other teacher except him? Is that why he invited me to stay as long as I wanted and to live and meditate in the gazebo next to his house? Did he want to instruct and guide me in my practices? If so, what about aloneness? Yes, I wanted to – and did – practice, but I didn’t want to do so exclusively with him as my teacher.

On my last visit to him, I didn’t have the chance to ask Dadaji these questions. In any case, I was not inclined to take up his offer.

Dadaji had kindly offered me what he owned: his house and his wisdom. And from his compassionate heart, he suggested devices to me that he knew and taught from his personal experience: aloneness and practice. They were part of Dadaji’s own path that helped him reach the state he was in. Like Ramana Maharshi, he has remained a bachelor all his life.

At this point, I didn’t care much anymore about the issue of predestination versus free will. If everything was predestined, I thought, then my practicing was predestined too. Within that system of belief, if I thought that doing spiritual practice was a function of free will and an act of person doership, having that belief and doing those practices – which Ramesh Balsekar felt were unnecessary for enlightenment – was itself destined. By the same token, I could even get enlightened against my own will, if it were so destined. So why bother about predestination at all?

I was deeply touched by Dadaji’s personal example and attainment. His pointing out again and again the importance of practice strengthened the roots of meditation even more deeply in me. I am profoundly grateful to him for that.

Spurred on my Dadaji’s loving presence, deep peace, gentleness, and fatherly goodwill, I was now happy to continue my odyssey.

-Berthold Madhukar Thompson

From The Odyssey of Enlightenment: Rare Interviews with Enlightened Teachers of Our Time, chapter 8

See the post from chapter 5: Practice Until Stillness Becomes Permanent.

Amido and I spent some time with Dadaji, which you can read about on A Visitor From Beyond the Mind.

Practice Until Stillness is Permanent – Annamalai Swami

I first met Annamalai Swami in June 1993, during my initial visit to Arunachala and the Sri Ramanashramam. As I explained earlier, I was eager to meet with disciples of Papaji’s guru, Sri Ramana Maharshi, in the hope that they would be able to assist me in my predicament as a seeker and guide me further in my spiritual endeavor.

At the time of my visit, I was Papaji’s ardent disciple and one of his right-hand men. I was deeply grateful for the fact that through his presence and guidance, he had helped to recognize my true nature. He facilitated many dips into the Self during the time I was with him, but I was still not satisfied with my own awakening. In addition, I had doubts about several aspects of Papaji’s teachings. Annamalai Swami was the first of Papaji’s gurubhais that I sought out, hoping he could clarify these issues for me.

I wanted to hear more about the qualifications of the true guru, the necessity of practice, the initial recognition of the Self, and how the latter related to final enlightenment. I also wanted to determine if and how far Papaji had departed from his own guru’s teaching. I hoped that such an exploration would help me better understand my own teacher and myself. I was determined to ask my questions in a humble search for truth, and I was clear that I did not want to shed a bad light on my own guru, Papaji.

Let me be more specific about my dissatisfaction: Since I’d had my enlightenment experience with Papaji, my life hadn’t changed significantly. I still got angry and judgmental. At times I also found myself fearful, or immersed in desire or aversion. Obviously, I was not permanently happy and in peace. Foremost was the fact that I still had the desire for true enlightenment.

My meeting with the swami shortly after my arrival in Tiruvannamalai was preceded by an unexpected encounter that surprised and encouraged me. I was heading back to my lodgings in the Ramanashramam after an evening walk on the slopes of Arunachala, when I happened to pass a white bungalow in which fast, rhythmic music was playing. The familiar sounds stopped me in my tracks. I could hardly believe my ears—it was the music for Osho’s Dynamic Meditation! Somebody in Tiruvannamalai was practicing one of Osho’s meditations! Who could it be? I was overcome with curiosity and resolved to try and find out.

The entrance to the bungalow’s compound lay a few yards ahead of me along the path. It was marked by an iron gate set in an archway with an inscription identifying the place as the Sri Annamalai Swami Ashram. I passed quietly through the gate and followed the sound of the music. It led me to a wooded door at the side of the bungalow. It wasn’t locked. I opened it as quietly as possible, just enough to be able to take a peek inside. A lean, bearded man, clad only in a lunghi, had reached the third phase of the meditation. He was alone and oblivious to my presence. Smiling to myself, I closed the door softly and withdrew, walking back home through the gathering dusk. The next morning, when I took my seat in Annamalai Swami’s presence, I was surprised to find that his personal attendant and interpreter was the many I had seen doing Dynamic Meditation the evening before. Swamiji spoke only Tamil, the language of Tamil Nadu, his native state. His interpreter’s name, I learned was Sunderam.

I met with Annamalai Swami almost every day during my two-week stay at the Sri Ramanashramam, and Sunderam was always present as interpreter. Our exchanges were not recorded, but the conversation that follows represents a digest of our various encounters during that two-week period. I reconstructed it from memory shorty after our last meeting.

In daily life, Annamalai Swami was simply called Swamiji, and that’s how I addressed him in our conversations. In order to keep the interview in the same intimate climate that occurred in his presence, I will call him the swami, or Swamiji, in what follows.

Madhukar: Poonjaji told me that I have done whole work, that I have realized the Self. However, I still find myself confronted with questions and doubts about it.

Swamiji: Who has questions? Who has doubts?

Madhukar: Me . . . Now I suppose your next question will be: “To whom do doubts appear?” Right? [laughter] And I will answer, “To me,” and then I will need to continue to inquire, “Who am I?”—Sri Ramana’s self-inquiry.

Swamiji: That’s the right way to practice.

Madhukar: In my case, I have doubts about my realization in spite of Poonjaji’s assurance that it has really happened. My awareness of the Self is not without a break.

Swamiji: If there are breaks in your Self-awareness, it means that you are not a jnani [enlightened sage] yet. Before one becomes established in the Self without any breaks, without any changes, one has to contact and enjoy the Self many times. By steady meditation and the continued practice of self-inquiry, one will finally become permanently established in the Self, without any breaks.

Madhukar: How can I repeat the experience of peace and stillness that I often feel in Poonjaji’s presence?

Swamiji: Your experience of stillness is due to the influence of the milieu in which you find yourself when you are with your guru. However, your experience is momentary. Therefore, you need to practice until the experience of stillness is permanent.

Madhukar: Is the blissful and ecstatic state that I experience in Poonjaji’s presence samadhi [experience of the Self]?

Swamiji: Samadhi is perfect peace. But it is only momentary. Ecstasy arises when the mind comes back at the end of samadhi. It arises with the remembrance of the peace of samadhi. When the ego has finally died, the symptoms of bliss and ecstasy cease.

Madhukar: Poonjaji holds that no practice is necessary in order to realize the Self. You and Bhagavan Sri Ramana, however, contradict this stand quite clearly. To demonstrate this, I would like to read a quote from Sri Ramana. Is that okay?

Swamiji: Please, go ahead.

Madhukar: “In the proximity of a great master, the vasanas [latent tendencies of the mind] cease to be active, the mind becomes still, and samadhi [blissful experience of the Self] results. Thus the disciple gains true knowledge and right experience in the presence of the master. To remain unshaken in it, further efforts are necessary. Eventually the disciple will know it to his real being and will thus be liberated even while alive.”

Swamiji: I agree fully with Bhagavan. Bhagavan’s teaching is my own experience. I don’t know what Poonjaji is teaching.

Madhukar: As far as I have understood him, he teaches that self-inquiry needs to be done only once in the presence of the guru. In the first or perhaps second or third encounters with Poonjaji, the Self is realized. Papaji says that after the initial recognition of the Self, no further practice is necessary. However, he stresses that the guru’s presence and the association with him in satsang are usually required before that recognition can occur.

Swamiji: Only the serenity that is void of the ego is the highest knowledge. Until you attain the state in which you are the egoless reality, you must continue to seek the annihilation of the “I”-notion. This happens by associating with the teacher and by diligently practicing self-inquiry.

Madhukar: How long should one stay with one’s guru?

Swamiji: The association with the guru is necessary until the seeker has realized the Self. Only in the company of a teacher who has realized the Self can one become aware of one’s Self. Until you have realized the Self, you should study and practice the teachings of the guru.

Madhukar: What are the characteristics of a proper guru?

Swamiji: In the guru’s association or presence, you should find peace whenever your mind is attuned with him. He should have virtues like patience, quietness, forgiveness, and compassion. The one I whom you have faith is your guru. The one you feel a deep sense of respect for is your guru.

Madhukar: Although Poonjaji is my guru, I have met quite a few other gurus during my present stay at Arunachal. Is that okay? Is it okay to be in contact with more than one spiritual master?

Swamiji: Dattattreya had twenty-four masters. In fact, gurus can even be inanimate. Bhagwan’s master was Arunachala. The master is the Self. Through the grace of the guru, the seeker will come to know that Self which is true reality. Thus he recognizes that the Self is really his master.

Madhukar: While staying at the holy mountain, it becomes clearer to me with every passing day that I will have to leave my guru’s physical presence. However, the thought of leaving him makes me uncomfortable.

Swamiji: As I said, the Self is the reality, and the Self is the real master. So where could you go? You are not going anywhere. Even supposing you are the body, let me ask you, “Has your body come from Lucknow to Tiruvannamalai?” You simply sat in an airplane and in a car, and finally you say that you have come here. But you are not the body. The Self does not move at all. The world moves in the Self. You are only what you are. There is no change in you—the Self. Even if you depart from Poonjaji, you are here and there and everywhere. Only the surroundings change.

Madhukar: I am afraid perhaps to be missing out on Poonjaji’s grace.

Swamiji: Grace is within you. If grace is outside you, it is useless. Grace is the Self. You are never outside its operation. It is always there.

Madhukar – I have already told you something about my first teacher, Osho. I would like to share the most disturbing incident I had with him.

Swamiji: Please, don’t hesitate to speak. However, your doubts must naturally relate to the level of the body and mind and manifestation. They can only relate to what is unreal. Perhaps one day all your doubts will be removed once and for all—when you realize who you really are.

Madhukar – About six weeks before his own death, Osho’s lover and companion, Nirvano, took her own life in his ashram in Pune. She had lived intimately in Osho’s presence for almost twenty years. Her suicide shocked me more deeply than my guru’s death. It wasn’t just that she did not attain enlightenment; she must also have lived in a state of terrible misery and depression. My hopes of ever getting enlightened crashed with her death. I thought that if she, who had had such intimate contact with the master for such a long time, could not achieve enlightenment, then what chance was there for the rest of us? Her death quite disillusioned me.

Does her example demonstrate how difficult it is to become enlightened? And what about meditation? In her case, two decades of meditation practice failed to lead to enlightenment, and indeed it couldn’t even save her from committing suicide. 

Swamiji: I can understand your feelings about the lady’s death and the conclusions you have drawn from it. Each person’s life evolves according to his or her destiny and karma [the law of retributive action] from the previous life. Everything that happens, happens according to the Supreme Power. An event in a devotee’s life does not occur because of the influence of his or her guru. It happens because it is so destined. Such an event has nothing to do with the ability or inability or power or powerlessness of the guru to govern events.

Take the example of Sri Ramana. In the 1920s, Bhagavan had a personal attendant who had served him for many years. He was called Annamalai Swami, like me. That devotee had the privilege of being in his master’s presence around the clock. At some point, he left Bhagavan and lived alone in the forests some thirty kilometers from here, because he thought he was not worthy to be near his master. Several times Bhagavan tried to bring him back to the ashram. He sent several people to fetch him. But Annamalai Swami refused to return. Instead, he committed suicide by hanging himself from a tree.

The swami’s narration shocked me. I felt deep compassion for these two devotees who couldn’t even be saved by the proximity of their teachers’ presence. I knew that further questioning about this topic wouldn’t help dissolve my pain. If anything could, it was nothing less than the presence of the Self. When Annamalai Swami finished narrating this story, we sat together for a long time in silence.

I returned to Arunachala six months later, in December 1993. My earlier conversations with Annamalai Swami convinced me that I had come to a spiritual impasse with Papaji. Consequently, I had decided to leave my teacher and return to the womb of his guru’s holy mountain.

Since Papaji had offered no further guidance, Annamalai Swami’s words during my earlier visit were a big help to me: “If there are breaks in your Self-awareness, it means that you are not a jnani yet. Before one becomes established in the Self without any breaks, without any changes, one has to contact and enjoy the Self many times. By steady meditation and continued practice of self-inquiry, one will finally become permanently established in the Self, without any breaks.” After researching Sri Ramana’s works, I came to the conclusion that Annamalai Swami taught what his teacher did. And that teaching was now being confirmed by my own experience. On the other hand, Papaji had established his own, unique teaching in this respect, which wasn’t congruent with my experience. I was now beginning to face this reality.

On my previous visit to Tiruvannamalai, I had considered myself still associated with Papaji as a student. However, on this visit, I felt I could ask other teachers questions without inhibitions. I wasn’t yet sure if I was looking for a new teacher. I stayed for six weeks, and during this time I had a further series of conversations with Annamalai Swami. The following talk was recorded on December 24, 1993 at the Sri Annamalai Swami Ashram. In addition to the swami, Sunderam, and myself, four other seekers were also present.

Madhukar: You lived with Sri Ramana Maharshi in the Ramanashramam from 1928 to 1938. After ten years of ashram life, you moved out and lived on your own. You chose to distance yourself physically from the Maharshi. I would like to know what made you stay away from Bhagavan while he was still in his body?

Swamiji: When Bhagavan entered my being, my life became natural, and so there was no need to stay with him. Bhagavan acknowledged this, and therefore I went on my own. When a flower becomes a fruit, there is no need for it to stick to the tree any longer.

Madhukar: From 1938 to 1993, for fifty-five years, Swamiji has been living in his own ashram. Is that right?

Swamiji: In the years 1938 through 1942, I was living on my own, but I was going for Bhagavan’s darshan on a daily basis. I was meditating with him every day.

On one occasion in 1942, Bhagavan covered his face with a cloth when I came for his darshan. I became very worried and I asked him, “Why have you covered your face as soon as you saw me? Does it mean that I should not come anymore, or what?” Bhagavan remained silent. He was not saying anything. After a while he said, “When I am just relaxed in my own Self, why do you come and disturb me? That is what I want to say.” I understood that Bhagavan did not want me to come to him any longer.

After I had left the hall and walked away for some distance, Bhagavan called me back and said, “If human beings don’t think of God or meditate on God or truth, they will live in misery and suffering. Similarly, if one has reached the state of maturity and if one—in spite of one’s maturity—keeps thinking that one is different from the guru or from God, such an attitude will produce the same suffering.”

These words made me understand that Bhagavan didn’t want me to come to the ashram anymore. He didn’t want me to come to see him any longer. He wanted me to stay by myself. That’s why I stayed by myself in Palakottu from that time onwards.

Madhukar: Was Bhagavan happy with your decision? Did he comment on it?

Swamiji: Not directly. He had his own way of communicating with me— like in another incident in which Bhagavan made it clear to me that I should stop seeing him. Bhagavan used to go for a walk on the hill almost every day. He was using the path which led past my hut in Palakottu. I used to go to the hillside to meet Bhagavan on his walk. True, Bhagavan had indicated that I shouldn’t meet him in the ashram anymore. But he had not told me not to come to the hill and have his darshan during his daily walk. I had thought that Bhagavan didn’t mind my habit. But when I met Bhagavan on this specific occasion on the hill, he asked me three times, “Why have you come? Why have you come? Why have you come?” Then he said to me, “Staying by yourself, you will be happier than me.”

Madhukar: Could you finally let go of his physical presence?

Swamiji: Yes. I did.

Oh! Now I remember another incident which happened before the one on the hill. One day, Bhagavan came to Palakottu. I saw him standing outside my hut. When I went outside to greet him and prostrate to him, Bhagavan said, “I have come for your darshan.” His words shocked me. I said to him, “Why is Bhagavan saying something like that to an ordinary man like me? Why is Bhagavan using big words like this? It is not correct to say things like this!” Bhagavan said, “You are living by my words. Is it not great?!”

Bhagavan told me that I did not need to go anywhere. He told me to just stay at my place in Palakottu. He told me just to be by myself. He told me just to be my Self. And he told me that whatever I will be needing will happen by itself. He said there is no need to ask anybody for money. “Money will come to you whenever it is needed,” he said.

Madhukar: Did his words come true?

Swamiji: Yes, in every respect. Bhagavan’s words all became true. And I did stop seeing him. Even on his mahasamadhi, I remained by myself— with my own Self.

Madhukar: I heard that Swamiji has never left Tiruvannamalai during the past fifty-five years. Is there a reason for this or did it just happen?

Swamiji: Bhagavan told me to stay at this place. I followed my guru’s words. I found that there is no happiness outside. So I stayed “at home.” There isn’t anything outside. Whatever you are seeking is your Self. Whatever you are seeking is the atman. That’s why there is no need to go outside. Bhagavan told me, “Don’t even go to your neighbor’s room.” So I didn’t.

Madhukar: But you used to do the thirteen-kilometer-long pradakshina [the practice of circumambulating a holy object] around Arunachala once a day, didn’t you?

 Swamiji: Yes, I used to do that.

Madhukar: Are you still doing that practice?

Swamiji: No, nowadays I am not doing pradakshina anymore.

Madhukar: Let me tell you what I understand as discernment by means of inquiry:

 A thought arises.

 Now the “I” or the ego asks, “To whom does this thought arise?”

 The answer is, “To me.”

 The “I” then asks, “Who am I?” There is an “answer” that has no words.

Somehow, nothingness or silence is present. Nothingness or silence is there as an answer to the question “Who am I?”

Swamiji: Correct.

Madhukar – Is it necessary to keep asking, “To whom does this nothingness and silence appear?” When nothingness and silence “appear,” do I need to ask further?

Swamiji: As soon as you realize that there is only a rope and not a snake, you don’t need to keep questioning whether what you see is a snake or not. But you should not forget that there is only a rope.

Madhukar – Do you mean to say that there is no need to ask again, “To whom does nothingness appear?”

Swamiji: That’s right. There is no need for any further questioning, because there is no duality in that silence and nothingness. Silence and nothingness are not things you experience—they are what you are.

Madhukar – I am asking this question because it seems to me that there is duality. Isn’t it the “I” or the “I”-thought that is perceiving nothingness or silence? There is nothingness. But this nothingness or silence is still perceived by something that I think is the ego.

Swamiji: In that nothingness or silence there is no “I”-thought. That is real life. That is reality.

Madhukar – I am still not clear. Let me ask again: Is the perceived nothingness, or silence, perceived by the “I”?

Swamiji: Let us take an example. First you misunderstand yourself to be somebody else—not a human being. Some day you come to know that you are a human being. This understanding will always stay with you. After you have this understanding, what more do you need? So it is with the Self. Knowing the Self is being the Self.

Say you are Madhukar, but you think you are somebody else. Now you come to know that you had mistaken yourself to be somebody else; you have come to know that you are Madhukar. You realized that you were Madhukar before, but you just didn’t know it. Having come to know your true identity, there is no need to do anything further. Now you know you are Madhukar. There is only one Madhukar. Whatever exists is in a state of oneness. And in oneness there is no duality.

Madhukar – Swamiji, please clarify one more time for me: After asking “Who am I?” and “To whom does this thought appear?” there is simultaneously beingness or nothingness and the awareness of perceiving the object “nothingness.” If inquiry is done correctly, should there be only nothingness without the sense that an object called beingness or nothingness is perceived?

Swamiji: For whom does this duality exist?

Madhukar – For me. In Sri Ramana’s inquiry, the next question would be “Who am I?” In my case the “answer” is a nothingness and silence without words. The sequence is, “To whom does this nothingness, this silence, appear?”

 “To me.”

 “Who am I?”

 “Nothingness, silence.”

 So you can see, my situation is like a dog biting its own tail. There seems to be no way out of the circle. How should I proceed with my inquiry practice?

Swamiji: You are Madhukar, you know that. After you have come to know that, why do you repeat that you are Madhukar or why do you forget that you are Madhukar? Be Madhukar! You are Madhukar. Knowing that you are Madhukar, you are Madhukar. At the moment of recognizing that silence and nothingness as your Self, you are the Self. In that instant, you will also recognize and know that you were never anything else than the Self, and you will never be anything else than the Self.

Madhukar – In each attempt of self-inquiry “Who am I?”, the “me”—the “I,” the ego, the “I”-thought—dissolves, and that nothingness and silence remain as my true nature. And each time, I recognize that the “I” or “me” or the “I”-thought actually never really existed. Inquiry leads back to nothingness and silence and being what I truly am. But at times I forget this and I am back where I started.

Swamiji: Who forgets it?

Madhukar – Me! Well, here we go again! [laughter]

 May I ask you another question: Somebody who sits in a cave has more time to do sadhana [spiritual practice] than somebody who has a family and a job. Has the meditator a better chance to reach enlightenment?

Swamiji: One doesn’t realize one’s true Self. The true Self is already there. One person may do a job while another person is playing. Whatever one does, it is of no use. While working, abide in your Self as if you are living in a cave. There is no outside and no inside.

Madhukar – I would like to go back to what we discussed before. Is it advisable to focus on this nothingness and wait for the next thought to arise, or is it advisable to keep inquiring as to whom this nothingness appears?

 Please excuse me if I keep repeating this question; I do so intentionally. Because self-inquiry is the most important and fundamental practice for me, I need absolute clarity about its correct, practical application.

Swamiji: If you stay constantly in that nothingness, then no thoughts will arise. Only if you give up the hold on that state will something come up and take you away from it. So in that case, you have got to inquire again. If you live always with the understanding that there is only a rope, then how can a snake arise from it?

Or let us take another example. If you fill your pots full of water and you pour more and more water into them, they will not contain it. Like that, if one knows oneself, there is nothing else to know. The one who knows his own Self becomes content within himself, like a pot full of water.

Madhukar – In the waking state, the “I”-thought, the “I” notion, seems to be always present as an underlying silent sense of “I.” It is a kind of “I”- consciousness.

 When I wake up in the morning, the “I”-thought slides in without being noticed because I am so used to believing that I am the body and the mind, and therefore I call them “I.” I believe that is why the “I”-thought seems to be always there. It is an ever-present feeling, although it is not always noticed.

Swamiji: To whom does this “I”-thought arise? Who is sleeping? We are all asleep. Only the sage is not asleep.

Madhukar – Okay. Let me formulate my question in a different way. It is difficult to ask the precise question. I’ll try.

 What I am pointing to is how I perceive this “I”-thought or this “me.” What I am describing is how this “I”-feeling happens to Madhukar. It seems as if the “I”-feeling appears in the moment of waking up from sleep. Then the thought arises, “I want to have a cup of coffee.” It seems as if the “I”- thought and the thought of wanting a cup of coffee exist together. They become “my” thought. Is this correct?

Swamiji: To whom does all this happen? Whatever thoughts may arise, you are not that. For example, so many people in the world are thinking so many thoughts. Their thoughts are just arising by themselves. We can see all these thoughts as “just thoughts.” We can have the same kind of view regarding our own thoughts: “Whatever thoughts may arise, I am not these thoughts.” Because for the real I there is no thought. The real I is not connected with any thought. It is free from all thought. As in sleep, there is no thought.

Madhukar – Do I hear you say that thoughts are not “my” thoughts? Are thoughts just thoughts arising or appearing?

Swamiji: Thoughts appear by themselves only in waking or in dreaming. Otherwise they would need to appear in deep sleep too. Do they appear in deep sleep too?

Madhukar – No, they don’t.

Swamiji: Sleep is a miracle. In sleep there is no thought, no mind, no world, only samadhi. After waking up—as soon as the mind begins to function—the body appears and the entire manifestation begins to function.

When you have come to know who you really are, nothing affects you because you know that all is your own Self. Mind is Me. Everything is Me. All is Me. I am searching for my own Self. Take an example: There is only one gold but many different kinds of ornaments. Different kinds of ornaments are made of the same gold.

The one who does not realize his true Self thinks that the body is the true Self. The one who realizes his true Self finds that everything is his true Self. For him there is no samsara [cycle of birth and death], no nirvana [liberation from samsara] no maya [manifestation mistakenly believed to be real], no ego. All is Self. That is why this state is called the wakeful sleep. All and everything are the Self.

As Swamiji explained these things, I was overcome with tears of gratitude and bliss as a further recognition of the Self occurred. All at once my heart energy expanded and expanded until it finally burst out of all confines and fountained upward as intense light and heat that consumed my body awareness. Everything stood still. When I became aware of my body-mind self again, I found myself prostrated headlong in front of Annamalai Swami, gently touching his feet in reverence and devotion. I was unable to speak, and a deep silence permeated the room. After a long time, I sat up and resumed questioning Swamiji.

Madhukar – Listening to you, my questions don’t make sense anymore.

Swamiji: For each lock there is a key. I remember the incident when four famous pundits came to Bhagavan with a list of sixty-three questions in hand. It was a very long list. They gave the list to Bhagavan. He looked at the list. After seeing all those questions, Bhagavan asked them from whom or from where all these questions came. They just looked at each other. They looked at me, then at Bhagavan. Then they asked, “What is the answer to this question?”

Bhagavan said, “All questions have the same answer. Find out to whom the questions and the answers come. Who is the questioner? Who wants moksha [spiritual liberation]? When you know it, all questions will be answered once and for all times.” Hearing Bhagavan’s words, the pundits became silent.

Madhukar – Bhagavan seemed to have used his final weapon on the pundits. Wasn’t atma vichara, self-inquiry, called the supreme weapon by Bhagavan?

Swamiji: Yes, he called it brahmastra, the ultimate weapon. This weapon is able to defeat all other weapons. If you put armor around your body, nothing can harm your body. This is brahmakosam, the ultimate armor. Therefore if you wear the armor of your Self or if you remain in your Self, no misery, no thought—nothing—can disturb you. You get only shanti [peace] and that’s it. Shanti.

Bhagavan often used to repeat a particular teaching: He used to say about himself, “Others should not be jealous of me, because there is nobody in the world who is smaller than me. I am the smallest. I am nothing. I am less than nothing.” What he wanted to say was that one should not have an ego at all. Only a person who has that kind of humbleness can realize the Self. The one who has no ego is greater than all others. When we are nobody and no one, the Self remains. By being the Self, one is All.

On one occasion, I returned to Bhagavan when I had completed all the ashram building works he had asked me to do. Bhagavan said to me, “Don’t look back on what you have done!” From that moment onward, I have lived my life and done all my work with this selfless attitude.

A few days later, on New Year’s Eve 1993, another interview took place at the Sri Annamalai Ashram. On this occasion, only Annamalai Swami, Sunderam, and I were present.

Madhukar – On the occasion of my previous visit, I asked you for guidance regarding my self-inquiry practice. Today I would like to ask you for further guidance.

Swamiji: Don’t hesitate to ask.

Madhukar – I think I am going to repeat myself. Is that okay?

Swamiji: Ask your questions!

Madhukar – When I arrived at Arunachala, my practice of self-inquiry proceeded in the following manner:

 When a thought appeared I would ask myself, “To whom does this thought appear?”

 Answer: To me.

 Question: Who am I?

 Answer: Emptiness, nothingness. This answer expresses itself not as a word but rather as something like a feeling within myself.

 Question: To whom does this emptiness appear?

 Answer: To me.

 Question: Who am I?

 Answer: Emptiness, nothingness.

 Then the next futile circle of inquiry would start again. There seemed to be no way out. As I told you, the situation was similar to a dog chasing its own tail.

 Now, after having been four weeks at Arunachala, the content of the answer to the inquiry “Who am I?” seems to have changed. The same “I” that is present in the inquiry “Who am I?” stays present as the all-pervading and silent “I”—as an unspoken answer. The “I” is everywhere and in everything. Would you comment, please?

Swamiji: That is the real I.

Madhukar – At times, the perception of the I pervading everything is stronger than at other occasions. Why is that?

Swamiji: The perception is less to whom? [laughter] In fact, in the Self there is no “more” and no “less.”

Madhukar – In this I, there is neither good nor bad. In this I, is nothing but I.

Swamiji: In the days with Bhagavan, there was no such thing as good or bad. There was nothing to judge. We didn’t judge what was good and what was bad. Whatever was, was accepted.

Madhukar – I heard you say, “Hold on to the I!” You said that the all-pervading I that I have described to you is the real I. How can I know it is the real I?

Swamiji: If you don’t hold on to the real I, there will be the idea, “I am the body and the mind.” They look real. That is why it is suggested to hold on to the real I until you have become firmly established in the real I. The conclusion of meditation is to remain in your real state. But the truth is that nobody is doing meditation. All is the Self.

Madhukar – That state is not really a state, and therefore it cannot be “my state.” That state is “nobody’s state.”

Swamiji: In this state, you are not remembering and you are not forgetting anything. You are not thinking and not remembering “I am Madhukar” or “I am not Madhukar.” When you have the feeling “I am Madhukar,” you are self conscious. As long as we are referring to the body and mind, we have to meditate on the Self. Remember, all thoughts and methods regarding karma yoga [path of action], bhakti yoga [path of devotion], dhyana yoga [path of meditation], and jnana yoga [path of wisdom] are not the truth. We should not meditate on the body and on the mind but only on the Self. When we become established in the Self, there is no need to think about the Self.

Take the example of the snake and the rope.

As long as the illusion of the snake is there, the truth is not revealed. When you are fully convinced that there is only a rope, then there is not even the need to remove it.

Madhukar – When a rope is a rope there is no need for inquiry. When the rope appears to be a snake, there is a need for inquiry. Is that what you are saying?

Swamiji: To reinforce what I taught you in your first visit, I will quote a song from Bhagavan: “I am a man. And once I know that I am a man, what is the need to think that I am a man? But if I think I am somebody else or something else, then I must first come to know and to recognize that I am a man. And I then must give up that illusion to be something else.”

The vasanas—the latent tendencies, conditionings, and habits of the mind carried over from many past lives—hinder the realization of the realized state. These tendencies appear and cover the truth. That is why you must inquire, “Who am I?” and “To whom does this happen?” Such practice will irradicate the vasanas.

Madhukar – Are you saying that inquiry is essential in every moment and in every situation?

Swamiji: As long as light is lit in the house, darkness cannot enter. Likewise, as long as meditation and self-inquiry are practiced, vasanas cannot stay on. Continuous meditation is like a river. The flow of the river is always uninterrupted. When a constant flow of awareness is going on, vasanas cannot enter. This is constant meditation.

Madhukar – In a state of bliss, is it also necessary to keep inquiring, “To whom does bliss happen? Who am I?” and so on?

Swamiji: Try to inquire into happiness and you will find the same peace and quiet of the Self that is underlying both happiness and misery.

Madhukar – For many years, my understanding was that the experience of permanent bliss is the experience of the Self. Bliss or misery is experienced by the “me.” Both are experienced on the same level. How can I go beyond happiness and unhappiness?

Swamiji: Only on the level of the mind do opposites exist, like pain and pleasure, unhappiness and happiness. But in the Self there is no such thing.

Let me give you an example. Because of the eyes, you are able to see everything around you. But you cannot see your eyes with your own eyes. Even though you can’t see your own eyes, you cannot deny the existence of your eyes. You know with absolute certainty that they exist. The Self is like that. You cannot see the Self as an object, but you are the Self. Being one’s Self is jnana [wisdom]. Being the Self is knowing the Self. In that state, there is no duality. You are always That. You think that you are different from the Self, and that is the mistake. Giving up the difference is sadhana.

In the deep-sleep state, there is no difference between you and the Self. At this moment—here-now—there is also no difference between the Self and you and everything else. All is One. All is the One. All is one Self.

Madhukar – Bliss and misery don’t touch the Self. Seen from the viewpoint of the Self, they happen like a dream. In the realized state, bliss and misery are happening within awareness but without personal identification. Is that correct?

Swamiji: Ultimately you cannot divide anything. All is Self. Take the body as an example. The whole body is yours: The two legs are yours; the two hands are yours; the two eyes are yours. In bodily life, happiness and misery always coexist. It is important to meet both with equanimity. In a small baby, you can see vividly that happiness and misery merge into one.

I had one last interaction with Swamiji. I wanted to hear one more time what he had to say about the issue of gurus declaring their students enlightened, and in particular, about Papaji’s declaration of my enlightenment. I expected him to have at least some reservations about Papaji’s distinctive custom. I decided to seek from Annamalai Swami a more private answer in the intimate context of a personal letter. Thus, the following questions and answers were conveyed by mail in summer of 1994. They are set out below, along with his answers (translated by Sunderam).

Madhukar – Did Bhagavan ever declare any of his disciples enlightened?

Swamiji: As far as I know, Sri Bhagavan did not declare anybody enlightened except his mother and the cow, Lakshmi. Nevertheless, many seekers reached very high states and attained peace and maturity in his presence.

Madhukar – Do you believe that my guru, your gurubhai, Poonjaji, is enlightened?

Swamiji: Although I never met Poonjaji in person, I consider him as an enlightened being.

Madhukar – Poonjaji declared me enlightened several times. But I didn’t consider myself to be enlightened. Was Poonjaji fooling me as well as others?

Swamiji: You said in your letter that Poonjaji declared you enlightened.

Poonjaji is correct. But you did not trust and stay by his words. You moved away from the state of enlightenment and got yourself caught in the trap of the mind and its doubts. So it is not Poonjaji’s mistake. It is your mistake. Realize the tricks of the mind and be free from it.

Madhukar – I wish I could meet my real, final, and last guru in this life. How can I find him? What can I do to find him?

Swamiji: If you have the intense desire to live with a guru in whom you have total trust, that intensity will take you to a master. If you are fully ready to receive a master, the master will come to you.

At the end of 1995, I received a letter from Sunderam that contained the sad news and some of the details of Sri Annamalai Swami’s mahasamadhi. He wrote that Swamiji had not been feeling well and his body had become increasingly weak during the preceding months. Early one morning after Annamalai Swami awakened, he had asked Sunderam and a French devotee to help him sit in his armchair. As he sat there, the swami closed his eyes and seemed to go into samadhi. However, his breath soon became weaker.

Sunderam sat on the floor in front of Swamiji, and the French devotee sat in a chair behind Swamiji, holding and steadying him in a gentle embrace. There was no talk. Both devotees knew that Swamiji was leaving his body; both devotees sat in silence and with full awareness. They knew that nothing could or should be done other than what they were already doing— just being there. A short while later, Swamiji’s breathing ceased. His mahasamadhi had occurred in the early morning hours of November 9, 1995.

When I met Sunderam in Bombay in spring 1996 I asked him what he had felt or experienced just before Swami’s death, at the moment of his death, and right after his death. Sunderam said that he did not experience anything special during his guru’s passing away. There was no special transmission or energy phenomenon, he said. Swamiji died exactly in the same way he lived—ordinarily and simply. Sunderam told me that after the traditional rituals had been performed, his master’s enbalmed body was lowered in the lotus posture into the samadhi shrine that Swamiji had prepared a few years prior to his death. Sunderam said that it didn’t seem to matter to Swamiji where he sat—in a chair or in his samadhi. Death, in the sense of the ending of his attachment to the body, had happened way back in 1938 when Sri Ramana’s words, “Ananda [bliss], ananda, ananda!” had confirmed his enlightenment.

I was deeply touched by the simplicity of Annamalai Swami’s teaching and lifestyle. In fact, I was in love with him. During my conversations with him, I became immersed several times in the peaceful and blissful experience of the Self. It happened without effort. It was so easy!

Questioning Annamalai Swami repeatedly about the technique of the self-inquiry process, and my experiences of practice in his presence and under his guidance, opened up a new spiritual vista for me. Swamiji’s clarifications enabled me to directly and easily experience the Self. This ability inspired me to sing with joy and relief. A deep relaxation and tremendous satisfaction occurred in me when the understanding arose that my own Self is available anytime. In fact, I am the Self! I knew with certainty that it could perhaps be forgotten momentarily but never again would it be lost. Until my meeting with the swami, I wasn’t aware that the Self revealed itself so often during my self-inquiry practice. Like the manner in which a windshield wiper provides a clear view after pushing off rain with each swing, my thoughts now dissolved anew during each attempt of self-inquiry, revealing my true nature. My meditations now became an opportunity to directly and frequently experience—on my own! —the peace and quiet of the Self.

From my experience with Papaji, I knew first hand that the initial “pointing out” by the guru and the subsequent recognition of the Self by the seeker through self-inquiry were crucial to the awakening process. But contrary to Papaji’s teaching—and congruent with my own experience—I now was convinced that the first conscious experience of my true nature was not enough for me to be permanently established in enlightenment. I had learned from Annamalai Swami that one needs many dips into the Self through ongoing practice, perhaps over lifetimes, until one can remain constantly in and as the Self.

At one point, I had asked Annamalai Swami how many of his own disciples had become enlightened and whether he proclaimed the event of their moksha. He replied that it was up to them to discern if enlightenment had occurred and to declare so if they wanted to. He added that he didn’t know who or how many of his devotees had found freedom so far. Shouting his own enlightenment or that of others from the rooftop was not his business, he said.

What I heard from the swami made me ponder Papaji’s custom of declaring seekers enlightened. I contemplated particularly the fact that about one hundred seekers—including myself—supposedly had become enlightened in his presence!

But could this be true? I began anew to question Papaji’s claims. Why didn’t Sri Ramana declare his disciples enlightened? Why didn’t I hear about similar enlightenment success rates of other teachers of Advaita Vedanta or of other traditions in India, or in other schools such as Tibetan Buddhism and Zen?

Perhaps I would not have needed to struggle so much, had Papaji only told me that what I had experienced was a recognition of the Self and not the final experience of enlightenment. Then my odyssey would probably have unfolded in a rather different fashion. It is quite possible that I would have relaxed and kept practicing with Papaji until his last day on Earth.

My meetings with Annamalai Swami convinced me that final enlightenment in my case simply required more practice. I was ready to do just that. By the same token, I was still not ready to let go of the concept that enlightenment is a Big Bang event that in its culminating moment is complete once and for all. I still believed in a sudden transformation after which every one of my perceptions would be different from then on, rather than a continuous vigilance and expanded awareness grounded in my essential nature. In spite of my own experience, part of me still hoped that Papaji was somehow right in his assessment of my enlightenment and that it merely remained mysteriously veiled. And I still believed that the spiritual power of a guru could be synchronized with my consciousness and act with the aid of practice as a catalyst for awakening. By my simply lifting the veil, enlightenment would remain. Driven by such hope and possibility, my odyssey continued.

-Berthold Madhukar Thompson

Excerpt from The Odyssey of Enlightenment: Rare Interviews with Enlightened Teachers of Our Time, Chapter 5

See the post from chapter 8: You have to Work for the Fulfillment of Your Destiny.