20

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‌CHAPTER 20

20 January 1979 pm in Chuang Tzu Auditorium

Vadano means music, melody, rhythm. The whole universe is a rhythmic pulsation of energy. Everything is pulsating in a tremendous synchronicity with everything else. Just as waves are pulsating in the ocean! deep in contact with each other – no wave can exist alone, it exists only in a pattern of waves; they all exist together, they are members of each other – so this whole existence is a pulsation of trees, rocks, men, women, stars, mountains, rivers. All are pulsating in rhythm – and to pulsate in rhythm is to be blissful, is to be musical, is to be in harmony.

But because man has the capacity to be conscious, he can fall out of that. Consciousness is a double-edged sword: either it can become a no-self-consciousness, an unself-consciousness – that is one possibility; or it can become self-consciousness – that is another possibility. If it becomes self- consciousness you fall out of rhythm, you are no more part of existence; you start lagging behind, your steps are not in tune with the whole. Even the gap of a micro-second is enough to create misery. Misery is nothing but the distance between you and the harmony of the whole: the bigger the distance, the bigger the hell.

The other possibility is no-self-consciousness, un-self-consciousness. Consciousness is there, but there is no self. Then you are in tune. Self means that you have started thinking of yourself as separate; un-self means that you are and yet you are not. You are simply a part, neither dependent nor independent but in a kind of interdependence. That is truth.

The word ‘interdependence’ has to be remembered. The person who is dependent is egoistic and the person who is independent is also egoistic; those two are by-products of the ego. The person who understands is neither; he is interdependent. He knows himself as a wave amongst millions of waves. He exists as part, not apart. Then the great music arises in your being; the whole starts flowing through you.

To be initiated into sannyas simply means to become aware that you have fallen out of rhythm and that you have to enter into the garden of Eden again, in deep accord with the whole.

My whole teaching is to be harmonious with the whole, and then there is great music, great melody, great benediction.

Nirupam means unique. This is one of the greatest paradoxes of life, that we are not separate from the whole, yet each individual is unique. This is really difficult to comprehend, because the moment we think of uniqueness, immediately we think of the self. Our idea of uniqueness is that we can be unique only if we are separate from everything else; if we are units unconnected, existing like islands, then only can we be unique. If we are part of the whole, then how can we be unique? Logically it looks absurd, but existentially this is how it is: we are part of the whole and yet we are unique, because the whole is unique, and each part represents the whole and represents its uniqueness.

Now scientists have developed a new kind of photography which can explain this paradox very easily. This new kind of photography is done by laser rays; it creates a hologram. A hologram is a picture, not of the object itself but of the pulsating energy around it, the field of energy. The laser ray is thrown on an object. For example, if it is thrown on you and then the film is exposed – no camera is needed, no lens is needed, just exposure – if you look at the film you will not find yourself there at all, but you will find a tremendously beautiful pattern of waves. The laser beam reflecting off you creates an energy-field around you. It is just as if you throw a stone in the lake and ripples arise and they go on spreading, and they are circular. You can take a picture of it: it will not show you anything about the stone, it will show only the ripples created by the stone.

This hologram simply represents the energy that is reflecting from you in ripples, in circles. But the beauty of the hologram is this, that through it the object can be created again. Pass another laser beam through the film and you will come back onto the screen. In the film itself there is only a pattern of energy, you are nowhere to be found; but if it is projected on the screen with the same laser beam, it gives you back the object and the object comes back as three-dimensional. The three-dimensionality of it is far more significant than ordinary three-D. It is really three-dimensional: you can look from the side, because it represents you from all over. Those ripples were arising in circles, from your side, your back also, so you can go sideways and look and your side will be there, or look from the back and your back will be there. You will be there as you really are.

The tremendous discovery is that if you cut the hologram into two pieces, each piece will give you the same picture again; and if you cut it into four pieces, then too. If you cut it into a thousand pieces, then each single small piece of hologram will give you the picture, the same picture. It is not that in cutting the hologram only half of you will come on the screen, or only a one-thousandth part of you will come on the screen – no; you will always come as whole. Each part of the hologram is, in a miniature way, the whole.

Man is a hologram and each thing is a hologram, hence the uniqueness. It is not that you are just a part of god, you are a hologram: you represent god in his totality, just as everybody else does. It is not that we are just parts; we are wholes too. This is a significant discovery. very significant, because it explains one of the most paradoxical experiences of all the mystics.

Jesus says ‘I am, yet I am not, but god is in me.’ In India the Upanishads can be condensed into a single sutra ‘tat-tvam-asi: that art thou.’ That is a hologram: ‘that’ means the whole, and ‘thou’ means the part. But the part is not less than the whole; the part is equal to the whole. That equality is represented by ‘thou art that’ or ‘that art thou’; there is no difference. That is the meaning when Mansoor declared ‘I am god: Ana’l haq.’ He is saying ‘This is my part; it is not just a part, it is also the whole.’

In ordinary mathematics the part is always smaller than the whole. In higher mathematics, the part is equal to the whole, and then each part is unique because the whole is unique. This is the meaning of the word ‘nirupam’.

Samyo means equilibrium, balance, serenity, stillness. It is a tremendously significant word, with many meanings, but all the meanings are around the idea of centredness.

Man can live in fragments, in division, in contradiction – that’s how man lives. Then the whole of life is a constant civil war: one part fighting with another part, one part pulling one in this direction, another part pulling one in another. Unless this conflict is resolved, nobody can know what stillness is.

Stillness cannot be imposed from the outside: it wells up within you. It is not something that can be cultivated, it is not part of so-called character. It comes from the innermost core of your being. It spreads outwards, but it arises within, not vice versa.

One can sit in silence and can enforce a certain kind of silence, and if one goes on fighting and fighting with the mind, one can have a certain control over the mind. One can even stop thoughts – but it still will not be true stillness, because those stopped thoughts are just there, waiting to erupt. You are sitting on a volcano. You are in control, but to be in control simply means that all that you are in control of is still there, ready to take revenge, and it will erupt with vengeance.

This kind of stillness is of no value. It is like a cold war: one is not actually fighting but is preparing to fight. It is not real peace, it is just the gap between two wars; a gap is needed so that you can prepare again for the new war that is coming.

The real stillness is not that of cultivation. The real stillness comes out of understanding the inner conflict, watching the inner conflict, watching continuously – ‘Why am I fighting? Why?’ – looking deep into that why, and slowly slowly seeing the absurdity of it.

The moment you start seeing the absurdity of it, it starts falling away from you – not that you drop it. If you drop it, it will remain superficial. When it falls of its own accord because the insight has arisen that ‘This is stupid!’ in that very understanding is liberation. When you have seen the ridiculousness of it, you simply co-operate with it no more; and without your co-operation it cannot exist. It sucks your energy; it is a parasite. Then conflict, inner conflict, inner tension, inner contradiction, drop of their own accord because a certain light of understanding has arisen in you – through watching, through observing, through witnessing. Then suddenly some stillness that you have not even thought about, some coolness that is not of this world, something that transports you into another world, erupts. You still walk on the earth, but your feet no more touch the earth. You still live in the same world, but you are no more part of it: a transcendence has happened.

That state of stillness is samyo. Then one is centred, whole, undivided, there is no fight of any kind. Then one lives moment to moment. Each moment then is a precious gift from god, and one lives in tremendous thankfulness. That thankfulness is prayer.

Upgiti means a song, singing. Life is life only when there is an undercurrent of singing in it. Ordinarily there is an undercurrent, but that is of thinking, not of singing, and the undercurrent of thinking is a dissipation of energy. Thoughts don’t bring you truth and thoughts don’t bring you silence. Thoughts are only disturbances in your inner being. Thoughts are a kind of disease – exactly, dis-ease.

This has to be changed, this gestalt has to be changed. The same energy that goes into thinking has to become singing, an undercurrent of humming, a bubbling joy, a bouncing joy – as if one is constantly in love, waiting for the beloved, as if at any moment the beloved is to come and one is throbbing, pulsating with great expectancy, as if one is pregnant. And the undercurrent of singing does make one pregnant, pregnant with god.

The more your energy becomes a singing inside, a dancing, a celebration, the more and more you come to know about the mysteries which are all around but because of the barrier of thinking you cannot see them. Thinking is a kind of blindness; singing will give you eyes. Only poets know, only dancers know; others only think, they never know.

The mystic is the highest reach of the poet – the climax, the crescendo. And that’s what sannyas is: it is an initiation into mysticism. By becoming a sannyasin you have shown your readiness to go to the highest peak of consciousness. It is the beginning of a great journey that ends in being a mystic.

A mystic is a poet who lives his poetry. He may not compose poetry, that is not the point; he may never sing a song, that is not the point – his whole being is a kind of singing. His whole being is like a mountain stream, the sound of running water, and the joy of exploration.

That is the meaning of upgiti: the gestalt has to be changed from thinking to feeling, from logic to love, from syllogism to singing. This can be done, and can be done very easily, because singing is closer to our hearts than thinking; it is more natural. Obviously love is more natural than logic; logic has to be taught, love arises of its own accord. We are meant to be lovers! Logic is a social invention: love is god’s gift.

Whatsoever is natural is easy to attain. In fact, if we are ready to drop the unnatural, the natural explodes. No effort is needed to create it; it is already there. It is just that the unnatural is too heavy – it is like a rock, and the stream cannot flow.

Prem means love, shivo means the ultimate good, the summum bonum – love, the ultimate value, the ultimate good. Everything else is lower than it. Love is the essential core of all religion, of all poetry, of all mysticism. If love is fulfilled, then all commandments are fulfilled; and if love is not fulfilled, you can fulfil all the commandments and nothing will ever be fulfilled. All those commandments will remain only superficial, formal; there will be no heart in them. They will not be alive, they will be corpses. You can decorate them, you can paint those faces: you can deceive people, but you cannot deceive yourself, because you will know that you are only pretending. And to pretend is ugly.

That’s what we have been taught to do, down the ages – to pretend. We call it morality and we call it religion and we give it beautiful names just to hide some ugly fact.

Our prayer is formal; we go because we have to go. Our morality is formal, because if you don’t follow it you get into unnecessary troubles. It is safer to follow, to pretend; it gives you respectability. This formal morality functions like a lubricant between you and others, so it is a good policy. They say: Honesty is the best policy. Morality is nothing but a policy, a strategy, to live with people in a certain harmony. But it remains superficial; your heart is not in it.

The real morality has nothing to do with commandments; the real morality has to follow only one law, the law of love. The law of love will not necessarily coincide with the law of the society; that is not necessary. Sometimes it coincides, sometimes it does not; more often it does not.

The really religious man, therefore, is bound to be in constant rebellion. One who follows the law of love will become a rebel – but that is the only way to truly live. The only way to truly live is to live dangerously. Lovers live dangerously, because they risk all for something invisible, for something unknown. They put at stake all that is known; they are gamblers – but it brings sharpness to their intelligence, it brings integrity tO their souls, it brings a crystallisation.

It is only by passing through the fire of love that one becomes pure gold. So I call it the summum bonum, the ultimate good, the highest morality and the ultimate in religion.

Unmilo means the act of opening your eyes. Truth is: it is now, it is here. One need not go anywhere. It has not to be searched for, sought, it has not to be discovered: it is facing you, it is surrounding you, in all its utter nudity. It is not covered, so there is no question of discovering it or uncovering it. Then why do we go on missing? Because we are keeping our eyes closed. It is only a question of opening your eyes. It may be full daylight, but you can keep your eyes closed and then you are in the darkest night ever.

Just as there are physical eyes, there are inner metaphysical eyes. I mean that those inner eyes are closed. We have completely forgotten that they are there, we have completely forgotten that they can be opened. We have neglected our inner being so much and for so long that it has become almost non-existential. Hence the need of a master to revive a longing in you that you have almost killed – to make you thirsty for god, to shake you into a kind of wakefulness.

Sannyas means a readiness to not be offended if you are shaken, to not be offended if you are shocked, to feel grateful if you are shocked, shaken, to not be angry if your dreams are disturbed.

P. D. Ouspensky, the greatest disciple of George Gurdjieff, has dedicated one of his best books ‘In Search of the Miraculous’ to Gurdjieff with these words: To the disturber of my sleep.

The master has to disturb your sleep – and sometimes when you are having great dreams, sweet dreams, golden dreams. It irritates. That’s why the master can function only with disciples who have shown a readiness.

Many people come here; they write letters to me, enquiring ‘Can’t we work, can’t we meditate here, without being sannyasins?’ I say to them ‘There is no problem. You can meditate, you can go through therapies, but unless you are a sannyasin you will miss much – because I can start disturbing, shattering, destroying you, only when you give the signal that “I am ready, Even if I have to be beheaded, that is perfectly okay, you can do it!”’

That’s what sannyas is all about – your readiness to be beheaded – because only when you no more are as you have been in the past, will something new be born. New eyes will be born. Truth always is: all that is needed is a wakefulness.

[A sannyasin, leaving, says: I feel afraid to open.]

It is natural, that’s why people have chosen to remain closed. If it were easy to open, everybody would be open. It is difficult because it is risky; it makes you vulnerable, it makes you unguarded. Opening up means dropping all your armour – and that is your safety: nobody can enter in you. What to say about enemies? Even friends cannot enter you. The fear is so much and the clinging to safety is so deep that we don’t allow anybody to enter in.

There is a certain logic in it: if you open the door, what is the guarantee that only the friend will enter? Enemies may be hiding somewhere and they may jump in. So it is safer not to open the door at all. Even lovers remain behind doors, shouting at each other but no communion is possible.

You will have to learn that insecurity is life, and security is death. Safety is not the true way to live; it is certainly a sure way to die. One becomes entombed in oneself, one becomes a grave unto oneself. Have you not seen people who live in graves? They are the most secure. No disease can happen, no death can happen any more, because it has already happened and they are finished with it. Nobody can rob them, nobody can cheat them, nobody can reject them: they are really secure. That’s how millions of so-called alive people are – carrying their subtle transparent graves around themselves. You can come close only so far, and then the wall comes. It is a transparent wall: you can look through it at each other, but no communion is possible.

You will have to see this, that this is not the right way. But this is what has been told to you again by people: ‘Be safe. Don’t risk, don’t go into the unknown, don’t move in the dark, remain alert. Don’t trust, always remain suspicious.’ That’s what makes people remain closed. You will have to unlearn all this process, and you will have to learn a new way of life.

It will take a little time, because de-programming takes time. But you have started moving towards it, hence the longing to be open. It is a very fortunate longing, a fortunate moment, when one longs for an opening. And once you start longing, it is going to happen – because nobody can hinder it except you.

[A sannyasin asks Osho to look into her and tell her what she needs. She has booked for several groups. She is only able to come here once a year and feels in between the East and the West which is uncomfortable.]

I understand. Mm – it happens to everybody who starts changing. A time comes when one is in a kind of limbo, just in the middle: the old is gone and the new has not yet settled, and one is in between, torn apart. That’s very natural. But going back is impossible; the West is finished. And in fact only when the West is finished does the East begin.

The people who are living in the East are not necessarily Eastern. My own experience of thousands of people is that only the people who are finished with the West become Easterners. The West represents the body, the mind, the West represents the without. And when you are finished with the without, only then does the inner journey begin.

Everybody has to be a Westerner in the beginning. It is fortunate to be born in the West, because you can easily be Western, and sooner or later you will be finished with it – the more intelligent you are, the sooner it will happen. Then the real entry into the East begins. Those who are born in the East are unfortunate, because they are never finished with the West – one thing. And the second thing is that they take the East for granted. They think they are Eastern; they are not.

Unless one passes through the Western process of the mind, one can never come to the Eastern process. It is the highest rung of the ladder – first you have to climb the lower rungs.

So you are half way. But the ladder that you have climbed is no more there; you cannot get back.…

It disappears, it is no more there. So going back is never possible: you can only go ahead. So you have to become more and more Eastern, and sooner or later this is your home. So come back here!

[A sannyasin returning from the West says: It was really good and really bad at the same time.]

That’s good. It always happens so: when something is really good, it is really bad too! But it is good – you look better. It has been a good experience, even if it was really bad! You look softer and better. Very good.

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