---
section: Library
booktitle: "Dimensions Beyond the Known"
booktype: "Translations"
bookcode: "DIMENS"
dategiven: "10 March 1971 pm"
place: " in"
chapternum: "Chapter #3"
chaptertitle: "None"
acode: "7103105"
shorttitle: "DIMENS03"
audio: "No"
video: "No"
esttime: "mins"
displaytitle: "Dimensions Beyond the Known: Chapter #3"
---

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<p class="question">OSHO, DOES THE RITUAL OF TWENTY-ONE DAYS WHICH YOU INDICATED YOU WERE DOING IN YOUR PREVIOUS BIRTH BELONG TO ANY PARTICULAR TRADITION OF MEDITATION AND SELF-EXPERIENCE? BECAUSE FROM YOUR SPEECHES, IT APPEARS THAT YOU ARE DEFINITELY REPRESENTING THE METHODS OF SOME GREAT TEACHER OR TEERTHANKER. IN VIEW OF THIS, MAY I ALSO DARE TO ASK WHETHER YOU WISH TO CONNECT A SPIRITUAL LINK TO SOME TRADITIONAL CHAIN, OR LIKE BUDDHA ARE YOU ATTEMPTING TO CUT A NEW PATH ON SOME MOUNTAIN?</p>


Traditional thinking will remain traditional, and Buddha's path is also not new now. What has long been walked upon has become an old path, but new paths paved after the breaking of old traditions are also not new. Upon them also many persons have traveled.


Buddha had cut a new path; Mahavira walked upon an established path. But in the chain of Mahavira also, there was a first man who had cut a new path. Mahavira's path was also not the oldest. The first teerthanker had done the same type of work as Buddha. It is not a new thing to cut a new path; otherwise traditions would never be born. Now, in the context of the present situation, it is necessary to do something different than both of these things, because nowadays people of both these types are in abundance.


If we look at George Gurdjieff, he was reestablishing an old tradition like Mahavira. If we look at J. Krishnamurti, he appears to be establishing a new tradition like Buddha. But both of these are old patterns.


Many traditions are broken and many are made anew. That tradition which is new today will become old tomorrow. The situation of today is such that neither Mahavira nor Buddha could have an enduring appeal, because people are weary of that which is old. A new situation has been created in which people are growing weary even of that which is new. The new was always thought to be the opposite of the old, but now we are standing at a point from where it can be clearly seen that the new is only the beginning of the old. The new means that which will become old. No sooner do we begin explaining something as new when the thing begins to become old. Now there is no attraction to the new, and we have always had a revulsion for the old.


There was a time when there was an attraction for the old. This attraction was deep. The older a thing, the more valuable it was thought to be. If it had passed through experience, if it was well examined, there was no fear in following it, and one had full faith in it. So many people had walked on such an old path and so many had reached by that path, that new travelers could even walk with closed eyes if they wanted to. There was a road for the blind also. There was no need for anyone to doubt very much, think very much, search very much or decide very much.


And it is very difficult to decide about the unknown. However much you may doubt, in the end the jump into the unknown is only through trust, because doubt can, at the most, take you up to the point of some trust through which in the end you can jump. But that attraction for antiquity is lost, and it has become lost for several reasons.


The first reason is that when a person knew only one tradition, there was no difficulty. But when one person came to know about several traditions, difficulties arose. There was a time when a Hindu born into a Hindu family was brought up solely in Hindu surroundings and near a Hindu temple. The sound of the bells of the Hindu temple had become associated with the mother's milk and had become part of his bloodstream. Thus, the presiding deity in the temple was as much a part of his bones, blood and flesh as were the air, the water and the nearby mountain.


There were no rivals. There was no church, no mosque. No sound of any other tradition fell into his ears and mind. The old was so much in existence that it could not be questioned. It had existed long before him, and he grew up with it and within it. But then, slowly, a mosque came up near the temple and a church and a gurudwara also followed.


At one time, tradition had an impact on everyone, but now confusion is natural. Nothing can be accepted without suspicion because opposing thoughts exist side by side. If the temple is calling you by its ringing bells, the nearby call for prayers from a mosque simultaneously tells you not to make the mistake of going to the temple. Then both of these concepts enter the mind simultaneously.


The basic reason for the increase in skepticism in the world is not an increase in man's intelligence. Man is only as intelligent as he ever was. The main reason for the increase in skepticism is the superimposition of the impressions of many traditions at once upon his intellect -- particularly those of contradictory cultures.


Every path will call the other wrong. This is due to helplessness. It is not because the other path is actually wrong. Nevertheless, it will have to be called wrong, because if the other path cannot be called wrong, then the strength behind calling one's own path right is broken. In fact, if one claims that he is right, it invariably follows that the other is wrong.


Every tradition, therefore, had its own path. These paths never met or crossed each other but simply ran parallel; all traditions flowed separately in their own course. In that situation, in that period of time, the ancient had a very deep attraction, and a person like Mahavira was very useful and helpful. But as the traditions increased in number and grew in their rivalry, the old became ambiguous and the new increased in value. The new made rival claims also. But when the old traditions were only confusing the mind more and more and the arguments of the rivals could not settle anything, then instead of selecting from the old it was easier to select from the new.


There are many reasons for new traditions. First, the prophets and teerthankers of older traditions were born thousands of years ago. Thus, their voices have become very feeble. The prophet of a new tradition is existing with you, so his voice becomes deep and powerful. The older tradition speaks in an old language that existed at the time when it was born. A new teerthanker or buddha speaks a new language that is currently being shaped. The old words and phrases that have become dubious are dropped. New words are coined which are, in a sense, virgin, and one can easily depend on them.


Thus, the attraction for the new slowly increased just as several traditions came in close contact and met. We began to live, so to speak, at a crossroads, a junction where all roads met or ended.


But now there is no attraction for the new either, because now we have come to know that all that is new becomes old in the end, and whatsoever is old was once new. We also know now that the difference between the old and the new is only of words. It is only that the new is moving faster. Within approximately three hundred years, the new acquired the same reputation and status that the old once had.


At one time the antiquity of something was a certificate of its rightness. Nowadays, newness in itself has become the proof of something being right. To prove that something is new is enough for people to begin to trust in it, just as in the past they trusted in all that was ancient. Nowadays, to call something old is in itself a condemnation.


So all traditions became busy making themselves new. Every tradition developed propounders who talked about the new. The old paths remained, and the new ones also were found to have people walking upon them. But when this attraction for the new became strong, one unique phenomenon took place.


At the time when the antiquity of a tradition was taken as the proof of its being right, all religions were trying to prove that theirs was the oldest and the most ancient. If one asked the Jainas they would say that theirs was the most ancient tradition and that even the Vedas were born afterwards. If one asked the Vedantists, they would say that the Vedas were the oldest, and they would try to trace their origin as far back as possible -- because the more ancient, the higher the status.


Similarly, when newness became the status symbol, the question arose, "How new?" About fifty years ago in America, where the attraction for the new was the strongest due to the fact that American civilization and society were the most new, there were two generations -- one of the old people and the other of the younger people.


But now a very strange thing has happened. At present in America there are not only two generations. Today there is a separate generation of forty-year-olds, a separate generation of thirty-year-olds, and again a separate one for twenty- and fifteen-year-olds. The thirty-year-olds say, "Do not trust those who are above thirty years old." And even twenty-five-year-olds are now useless. High school students are now taking twenty-five-year-old collegians to be old. It has never happened before that there could be so many generations in a span of fifty years. No one even imagined that there could be grades even in the generation of young people, and that the twenty-year-olds would label the twenty-five-year-olds out of date and as good as dead.


So when innovation moves at such a rapid pace, the attraction for the new also becomes lost, because no sooner is the attraction for the new established than it becomes old. It takes time even to become attracted. A religion is not like a new fad or a new style of clothes that can be changed every six months. Nor is religion like the seed of some seasonal flower that can be uprooted four months after it has been sown. A religion is very much like a banyan tree: it takes a few thousand years to grow to full stature. And if the trees are to be changed every four or five years, then they will not be banyan trees; they can only be like seasonal-flower trees.


So the attraction for the new is also becoming lost. I have told all this only to make it clear that my way is of a third type. Neither do I believe that Mahavira's language of antiquity would be effective, nor do I think that a proclamation in favor of the new can be of any consequence. Both are outmoded. I feel that now an emphasis on that which is eternal is meaningful. That which is always is what is meaningful -- neither the old nor the new.


Eternal means that which is neither old nor new. The old and the new are both only events in time, and religion has suffered on account of both. Religion has suffered at the hands of the old and the same has happened in its association with the new.


Krishnamurti is still insisting upon the new. The reason is that his grasp on events goes back to the period between 1915 and 1920 when there was much attraction for the new in this world. At that time, the new was still influential. Even now he still continues to propagate it.


Now, on this earth, there is only one possibility. All traditions have come so close to each other that if one tradition says that it alone is the only right one it would immediately create a doubt. There was a time when if a tradition claimed that it was right and impartial and true in an absolute sense, one was able to trust it. Now such a claim would only create distrust; such a claim would only be a symptom of madness. It would prove that the claimant is not a very intelligent man, that he is not a deep thinker, and that he is dogmatic and fanatical.


Bertrand Russell has written somewhere that he has never seen an intelligent person speaking in absolute terms. Those who are intelligent will definitely hesitate to assert themselves in this way. Only the foolish can be so assertive. Russell is trying to say that only the ignorant can claim anything to be the absolute truth. As knowledge increases, such absolute announcements cannot be made. In this age, if anyone tries to assert that one particular tradition is the only right one, he will harm that tradition very much. Similarly, if one says that "what I am telling is absolutely new," then also it is absurd.


Many things are announced as new, but when they are examined in depth it is found that there is nothing new. The same things can be told in many forms, but when those forms are set aside, when the outer garbs are removed, what is found underneath is the same old thing. Thus, nowadays, neither a proclamation in favor of ancientness nor of newness can be meaningful.


In any view, the religion of the future, the one which will influence people, the one which will be followed and respected by people, will be the one that is eternal. It will neither be new nor old. No one can make it new, nor can it ever become old.


Those who call a religion old have old words to express it; those who have called it new have new words. Now we do not want to cling to any words. That is why I use words of all traditions. Any words may be of use in understanding. Sometimes I talk of the old way of thinking so that perhaps some may understand through that; sometimes I talk of the new way of thinking for those who can understand in this way. And, simultaneously, I want to remind you that truth can be neither old nor new.


Truth is eternal like the sky in which trees grow, develop, flower and then die. Trees also become old; they also have a childhood and youth. But all this is happening in the sky. We have sown a seed which has sprouted. The sprout is absolutely new, but the sky in which it has sprouted is eternal. The tree has grown, become old, and is nearing death. The tree has become old, but has the sky in which it has spread itself become old? Many a tree has come and gone, but the sky has remained there forever -- eternal, untouched, unaffected. Truth then is like the sky; the words are like trees. They are sown, they sprout, they acquire leaves, flowers, fruits, and then they die, they fall back down to the ground, while the sky remains where it was.


The old and the new both have laid emphasis on words, but I do not want to lay any emphasis on words. I want only to lay emphasis on the sky in which the flowers of words open, die and become lost, no trace of them remaining anywhere. Thus, in my view, truth is eternal and is beyond the new and the old. It is transcendental.


Whatsoever we say or think or create will come and go, but truth will remain where it is. Thus, those who say that the truth is old are ignorant, because truth does not become old. And those who say, "We have a new truth, an original one," are also ignorant, because truth can be neither original nor new. Like the sky, the truth just is.


I declare this third path, the path of the eternal, to be the path for the future. Why? Because this proclamation of the eternal will cut across most of the cobwebs created by many traditions. Then we will say, "Yes, those trees grew forwards the sky and these trees are also growing in the sky." Trees reach to the sky endlessly, but the sky is unaffected. There is much space in the sky. Our trees can neither fill nor empty that space. We need not remain in the illusion that any single tree can ever fill the entire sky.


Thus, none of our words, thoughts or principles can fill the sky of truth. There is always enough space. Millions and millions of Mahaviras and Buddhas, if born, would make no difference. Howsoever dense the banyan tree may be, it can make no difference to the sky. The vastness of the sky cannot be measured by the size of the banyan tree. But the blades of grass that are there under the tree do not ever know the sky; they only know the banyan tree. For them the banyan tree is so huge that they can never imagine that there can be anything greater than a banyan tree.


In this difficult situation, all the traditions have stood before us, and they have drawn our minds in all directions. There are old thoughts and new, and still newer ones are born every day. All are drawing man toward them. Because of this simultaneous pull, man's condition has become helpless. He does not know what to do. Man has almost managed to stand up, but he has no courage to walk in any direction. In no matter which direction he may attempt to take a step, he remains doubtful; he does not have any trust. All those who could have created some trust in him have themselves placed him in a condition of trustlessness.


In whatever manner trust has been created in the past, now too it is being created in the same way. The Koran continues to say that it is right, the Dhammapada says that it is right. Naturally, whoever says that he is right will have to say that the other is wrong. The other also says similarly. Thus, a person listening to both would think that all are wrong. Why? Because the one who says that he is right is only one, but those calling him wrong are fifty. The impact of being called wrong will be so strong, that the voice of one who is shouting that he is right is going to be lost in the collective voice of the fifty shouting him down as wrong.


With every one of these fifty the condition is the same, because each one is telling that he is the only right one. Now, if fifty persons call someone wrong and that someone asserts that he is right, the listener will naturally take a stand against all this nonsense.


This simultaneous demand to gain a person's trust just confuses. This situation can be corrected in only one way. There should be a worldwide movement in which no one would insist or assert that this is right or that is wrong. Instead, everyone would say that it is wrong to remain standing about inactive and it is right to walk. For this, a broad outlook is necessary which has the capacity to show correctly how one can proceed further in the direction which he has chosen. This is very difficult. It is easy to be a Mohammedan or a Christian or a Jaina because the guidelines are clear in every tradition. It is easy to be familiar with only one tradition.


One young man came to me about eight days ago. He said he is a Mohammedan and that he wants to be a sannyasin. So I advised him to be a sannyasin. But he said that his people would strangle him if he did so. I told him, "You become a sannyasin, but I do not say that you cease to be a Mohammedan. While remaining a Mohammedan, you can become a sannyasin." He said, "What! Can I go to my mosque for NAMAJ" -- the Islamic way of prayer -- "with these saffron clothes of a sannyasin?" I said, "Yes, you will have to do namaj."


He said, "I have left off doing namaj since I have heard you. I am doing meditation instead. I have not been going to the mosque for about one year, and I am full of joy. I do not even want to go to the mosque."


I said, "As long as you do not realize that there is no difference between meditation and namaj, I say to you that you have not understood what meditation is."


Such a person will have to be sent back to the mosque for namaj. It is very dangerous to break him away from the mosque, because after tearing someone away from the mosque it will not be possible to connect him with a temple. The method of breaking him away will damage him in such a way that he cannot be connected with any temple. Therefore, neither should we encourage any rivalry between temples, nor should we erect a new temple. Wheresoever one wishes to go, he should be free to go; he should not remain standing, but should just go.


The overall perspective which I have before me is this: that I would like to help every person to move according to his capacity, his stage of evolution, his culture -- according to what has already been assimilated in his blood. Then it will be much easier for him to achieve. Therefore, I have neither any religion of my own, nor any path of my own, because now one exclusive path or religion will not work for the future, and a religious sect means a path.


Nowadays, such a religion is required which doesn't insist on a particular path, which can become the crossroads for all the paths, which can say that all paths belong to it and which can ask everyone to follow the path of his liking. Such a religion would emphasize that you will reach the same place from wherever you walk, that all roads lead to one destination, that the only insistence is that you just go on moving and do not stand still.


Therefore, I do not wish to cut a new road on the mountain, nor do I wish to create any new philosophy or religion. There are enough paths, but there are no walkers. Paths are many; the travelers are very few. The paths have been more or less unused for many years. There hasn't been any traveler because the very necessity to climb the mountain is now in doubt. There is so much debate and controversy at the base of the mountain, that the result has been only to exhaust and frighten the individual and cause him to remain standing immobile. With so much mental confusion, no one can walk.


Here, one thing must be noted. I am not eclectic. I am selective of what pleases me. My thinking is not like Gandhi's that I may select four stanzas from the Koran and four from the Gita and say that everywhere the same thing is being propounded. In both these scriptures what is told is different, not the same. I do say that by all paths one can reach the same destination, but all paths are different, not the same.


If someone attempts to show that the Koran and the Gita are telling the same thing, it is only a trick. It is very interesting to note that Gandhi would read the Gita and would read the Koran, but he would select from the Koran only such topics that did not contradict the Gita and avoid the rest. Then what will happen to those topics which are left over? Whatsoever seemed to go against anyone's beliefs would be left out by Gandhi. He would never accept the Koran as a whole, though he accepted the Gita as a whole. That is why I say that he is eclectic. If something tallying with the Gita is found in the Koran, it is accepted. For this there is no difficulty; anyone would be ready to accept.


I say that I am fully agreeable to the extent that the Koran is the Arabic translation of the Gita; nothing more than that. That much even the believer in the Koran may agree to. But it would be an interesting experiment to ask a believer in the Koran to select some verses from the Gita which may tally with the Koran. You will be surprised to find that such a person would select things which Gandhi would have never selected. He would select very different kinds of things.


This I call eclecticism. It is a selection, not an acceptance of the whole. It is like saying that selection is always one's privilege, "and if you also agree with the selection, then you are also right. Otherwise, only we are right in the end. As far as you agree with us, thus far we say that you are right, and that much tolerance we are showing."


This is not doing much. This is a matter where total acceptance is called for. It is not a matter of tolerance at all. It is not that a Hindu tolerates a Mohammedan or a Christian tolerates a Jaina. Tolerance is itself a helplessness and breeds violence at a certain stage.


I do not say that the Koran and the Gita are saying the same thing. The Koran is telling something totally different. It has its own individual tune; that is its significance. If the Koran is also saying the same thing that the Gita says, then the Koran is of no value. And the Bible is telling something still different which neither the Koran nor the Gita says. Each one has its own tune. Mahavira is not telling the same thing that Buddha tells; they talk very much differently.


But through all these different systems, the place where one reaches in the end is the same. That is why my emphasis is more on the oneness of the ultimate, not on the oneness of paths. My emphasis is on the fact that in the end all these paths reach to a place where there are no distinctions or differences.


But each path is very different, and no one should make the mistake of thinking that these paths are the same; otherwise he will not be able to walk on any of them. All the boats may reach the opposite bank, but no one should make the mistake of trying to ride two boats at a time. Otherwise the boats will reach, but never the rider of two boats. He will fall overboard and drown somewhere.


All boats are boats. So if one just wants to talk about boats from the shore, there is no harm. But a pilgrim will have to choose a boat before he can step into it. I accept all religions as different boats, but one has to be chosen.


It is very difficult to choose one because they are all contradicting each other. On one hand, there is Mahavira who would not be willing even to kill an ant; he would place his feet on the ground with the utmost care. On the other hand, there is Mohammed who is standing with a sword in hand. So anyone who tells you that Mahavira and Mohammed are saying the same thing is telling a wrong thing. These two can never talk the same language. They talk very much differently.


If an attempt is made to show them as one, then there will be grave injustice to one or the other. Either the sword of Mohammed will have to be hidden or Mahavira will have to forget about putting his feet on the ground cautiously to save the ant. So if a believer in Mohammed had to select, he would cut out all those statements of Mahavira's that go against the sword, and if a believer in Mahavira had to select, then he would take away the sword from Mohammed or would only select things that would be in consonance with nonviolence.


But this is injustice. I am, therefore, not a synthesizer like Gandhi. I do not call for any synthesizing of religions. I am saying that all religions, with their own distinct individualities, are acceptable to me. I do not choose between them. I also say that because each religion is individually unique, one has a possibility of reaching.


All religions have forged their own roads, and the differences between them are only differences between the paths. It is as if along my path there are rows of trees and along your paths there are stones and stones. From the direction where you are climbing the mountain there are stones and stones, and from the direction where I am climbing there are trees and trees. One path is more difficult and exhausting to climb, with a steep gradient, while another goes up slowly, making many wide circles around the mountain. The latter path is very long, but it does not exhaust the climber.


Certainly, each climber would describe his own path differently, and the accounts of the difficulties faced on each path will be different as well as the methods to solve the difficulties. Thus, if we look at discussions about the paths, we will hardly find any similarities. And similarities which are occasionally seen are not of the paths. They are found in the statements of those who have reached the top; they are not of the paths at all.


Although the statements of those who have reached may be similar, there will be differences in language. The statements may be in Arabic, Pali, Prakrat or Sanskrit. Statements will be similar when they speak about the goal, but those statements made before reaching the goal will have very real differences. There is no need to forget about these differences.


So I do not want to cut a new path, nor do I want to proclaim that only old paths are right as against the other paths. I want to say that all paths are right, however different they may be.


Our minds are such that we think all right paths must be similar. We believe that only if two things are similar can they be right. It is not inevitable that things must be similar in order to be right. The actual truth is that if two things are similar, one is bound to be just an imitation; both cannot be original. Either one may be an imitation or both may be imitations, but at least one is bound to be an imitation. Two original things are bound to be dissimilar.


It is not surprising that there are differences between the paths of Mahavira and Mohammed. It would have been a miracle if there were no differences. It is unnatural to be similar. Mahavira's circumstances were all very much different from those of Mohammed. The people with whom Mohammed had to work were very much different from those with whom Mahavira had to work. The conditioning of the people with whom Mohammed had to work was quite different from that of the people with whom Mahavira had to work. They were so much different that it is not possible for Mahavira and Mohammed to have the same path. Even today their conditions continue to be different. One has to proceed keeping these different conditions in mind.


So neither am I anxious to cut a new path, nor am I anxious to proclaim any particular old path right as against other old paths. All paths are right -- those that have been carved, those that are being carved today and those that may be carved tomorrow.


But man should only be concerned with walking and should not stand in indecision. A person who remains standing immobile on the best path will also not reach, but a person who keeps walking even on the wrong path will reach -- if not today, tomorrow. The main thing is to go on walking.


If someone continues to walk, then it is not difficult to change over to the right path. But if one remains standing, then it is not possible to find out whether he is standing on the right path or not. Only by walking can one find out whether he is on the right or wrong path. If you merely believe in a certain principle while remaining indifferent, you will never know whether the principle is right or wrong. But if you put the principle to test and you experiment with it, you will immediately know whether it is right or wrong. A concept can be tested only by taking action on it, not otherwise. So I would like that you just keep on walking. I am prepared to help everyone on his own path.


Naturally, for Mahavira this was not easy to do. It is easier today, and it will go on becoming still easier because now it is almost impossible to find a person who has not been born into two, four or six religions in his last two, four or six births. Just as the world has come closer together due to faster communications during these last seven hundred years, so also it has become more possible for souls to change their religion and caste in the world. This is natural.


For example, two thousand years ago, if a brahmin died, the chances were ninety-nine in a hundred that he would not be reborn into a sudra family. Since the mind accumulates all the impressions of a life and stores them, the entry and exodus of souls was strictly conditioned by the caste system. The sudra was considered to be untouchable. Members of other castes would not even allow his shadow to fall upon them, and if such a shadow fell, immediately a bath was taken.


So the brahmin and the sudra were separated very widely -- by an endless valley. After death, the brahmin's soul would not be capable of thinking to take birth in a sudra family -- because the mind and its desires, which are responsible for choosing and determining one's birth, were very much against any involvement with the sudra caste. Therefore, it was not possible to change castes two thousand years ago. Up to the time of Mahavira, it was a rare phenomenon for a person to take birth in a different religion. The course of each religious tradition was so clearly defined that it flowed straight ahead like a well embanked river. Not only in one's present life, but in one's previous birth as well one would have moved within the same religious tradition.


Nowadays, in this twentieth century, this is not possible. Just as conditions have become more liberalized and farsighted in the outer world, inwardly also people have become more liberal and open-minded. It is all a matter of mind. At present it is much less embarrassing for a brahmin to sit with a Mohammedan and take his meals than it used to be, and as time passes there will be no embarrassment at all.


The person in whom this kind of embarrassment has not become less is not a modern man. His mind is five hundred years old. For the modern man there is no embarrassment at all. Nowadays, it is very absurd even to think of such embarrassment. Because of this, the doors have become wide open for souls to change religions and castes.


For the last five hundred years the doors have been opening wider and wider. Due to this, certain things can be told now. If I have walked several paths in my past births, it is now easier for me to talk about them. Thus, if some seeker from Tibet should ask me something, I would be able to guide him. But I would be able to do so only if at some time, during my chain of past births, I had come to know the value system of Tibet, if I had myself known the atmosphere that is pervading there through having lived in it; otherwise not. If I were to say anything without experience, it would only be superficial. Then it would not be deep. I would have to have passed through a particular thing myself in order to be able to tell about it in depth.


If I have not myself done any prayers in a mosque, my speaking about namaj would not be of much help. But if I have once passed through namaj myself, then I could know that one might be able to reach the same destination by namaj that one could reach by Hindu prayers. I am not then becoming eclectic. I do not say that there is no difference between namaj and prarthana, Hindu prayers, because I believe that Hindus and Moslems must become one. My reasons for saying so are different: I know that though the methods may differ, the goal is the same.


Thus, the situation is now changing. In the coming hundred years, there will be greater interchange among souls. Just as the outer bonds will break, so will the inner ones -- in the same proportion.


You may be surprised to know that those who had imposed strict conditions on outer means and methods had actually done so only to perpetuate inner transformation. For such reasons, the caste system of this country could not be scientifically explained or understood. Nowadays we feel how much injustice must have been perpetrated by those ancient brahmins who on the one side were writing the Upanishads and on the other were planning to behave unjustly with sudras, the lowest caste. These things appear contradictory. Either the Upanishads were wrong or they could not have been written by the same brahmins who had framed the rules of conduct for the way of life for sudras. If the same brahmins have done it, there must be some mistake somewhere.


But the fact is that this arrangement has been devised by the same brahmins. You cannot imagine that the same Manu who gave the manu-smriti, the Hindu social law including the concept of the caste system, could dwell so loftily on the possibility of a human being becoming the divine. Nietzsche has said that no man more intelligent than Manu was ever born on the earth. But if we study Manu's statements on sudras and other castes, he has created tremendous insurmountable barriers between the castes such as no one else has ever done. We are not able to rock the edifice which this man built single-handed five thousand years ago. That order of society continues to remain dominant even today.


Today, all the laws, all authorities, the entire intelligentsia and the entire politics in India are ranged against this man Manu who died five thousand years ago. It is proving very difficult to remove the system which he has given. From Raja Ram Mohan Roy down to Gandhi, the wisest people in India for the last hundred and fifty years have been fighting against Manu. This man was of a great stature. Gandhi and Raja Ram Mohan Roy appear juvenile and childish before him. All conditions since Manu have changed, but yet it has been difficult to remove him. The reasons for this are inner, and they run very deep.


The basic concept was this, that if someone was doing namaj in this life, then Manu thought that that person should take birth again only in a Mohammedan family which does namaj. Otherwise, if his tradition were changed in every birth, then the work which can be completed in three births of being born in the same tradition would take thirty births. If the tradition is changed in every birth, the old links become lost. Every time a person changes the road, he has to start from ABC. He cannot be connected with his old tradition. If one was born in a Mohammedan family in the past birth and if in this birth he is born in a Hindu family, he will have to start from ABC all over again. The work done in the previous birth will be of no use.


It will be like a boy studying in the first grade who leaves a school after six months and joins another where again he starts from the beginning, and then he changes to a third school where he once more starts all over again. When will his education be complete? He will remain only in the first grade.


So Manu's concept that a person should be born again and again in the same tradition in order to enable him to start from where he had left off in the previous birth was very valuable. This could happen only if the system is made very tight and rigid, with no loopholes, no exceptions. If only this much were permitted -- that it would not matter whether a brahmin married into a sudra family -- then Manu was intelligent enough to see that if one can marry into a sudra family, then where is the difficulty in taking birth into a sudra family? If a brahmin, by marrying a sudra wife, can give her a child, then why can he not take a birth through a sudra mother? There is no logical objection in that case.


Therefore, if one is to be prevented from taking such a birth, he will also have to be prevented from giving such a birth. So great restrictions were placed on marriage. If the restrictions were relaxed even by an inch, the entire system that had been built would be badly disturbed.


But it has already become so. Now it will be very difficult to put it in order again -- not only difficult, it will be impossible. The entire situation is such that it is not possible. Now we will have to find better methods, more subtle than those devised by Manu. Manu was very intelligent, but his system was very crude -- and a crude system will prove unjust for men. The social restrictions were very much outer, though their purpose was to regulate the inner. Now this will not work. It is bound to prove difficult tomorrow if not today. It will become like a straightjacket for a society.


Now we will have to make experiments on finer planes. It means that we will have to make namaj and prarthana of such a fluid character that if one had left off from namaj in the past birth he can start prarthana in this birth just from where he had left off with namaj. Namaj and prarthana should be interchangeable. One's ears should not be so much conditioned by temple bells that the sound of ajan, the morning call in mosques, heard one morning seems foreign to him. Some inner harmony will have to be devised between the Hindu temple bells and the sound of ajan.


This is not difficult. For the future, there will be a necessity for a new religiousness, not a new religion. The entire concept of Manu has collapsed; the traditions of Buddha and Mahavira are lost. If one wants to experiment with the same old foundations, he will fail. Gurdjieff tried his level best to do that; Krishnamurti is laboring for this the last forty years, but nothing is happening.


All circumstances have changed. In these changed circumstances, an absolutely newly conceived concept is needed. This new concept has not been experimented upon so far. It is a concept of a new religiousness in which all religions, as they are, are right. Our eyes are to be fixed on the goal, and the insistence should be to keep on walking. One can walk on any path, but the proximity of all paths will be such that one can cross over to another path easily. The distance between the paths will not be so great that one will have to first come to the entrance of a new path if he wants to change paths. Things should be so that if he leaves one path he can cross over to the other through linking paths that join one path to another.


The goal is always connected with all of the paths, but linking paths were never there. There is no difficulty in reaching the goal through any one path, but now the times are such that one will not be able to walk on only one path. Life is becoming more and more disrupted every day, inwardly as well as outwardly.


A man born and raised in a Hindu family may have to pass his whole remaining life in Europe. Another born in America may pass his life in an Indian forest. A person brought up in London may pass the rest of his life in Vietnam. This will happen repeatedly now. The atmosphere will change daily both materially and psychologically. These changes will be so fast that we will have to construct paths that link together the highways.


The Koran and the Gita are not one, but a link can be made joining the two. So I would like to spread a network of sannyasins who are such that would form the links. These sannyasins will do namaj in a mosque, say prayers in a church and do kirtan in a temple also. They will walk on the path of Mahavira, meditate as Buddha did, and even experiment with the Sikh tradition, thus making connecting links -- a living chain of human links. All will be struck by the one religious feeling -- that all religions, though separate, are one. Not that all religions are one and inseparable, but that though they are separate, they are one in their inner harmonious march toward the goal. They are one in the sense that they lead you toward one superconsciousness.


Thus, my work is that of a third type. Such a method was never followed before. Small attempts may have been made in this direction, but they have all failed. Ramakrishna tried to do that in a small way, but that experiment is also not very old. Nearly two hundred years ago, he took his first steps in this direction. But the efforts of Ramakrishna also failed. Vivekananda again gave the effort a completely Hindu color.


Nanak also tried something in this direction about five hundred years ago, but that also did not succeed. Nanak collected in the guru grantha the teachings of all Hindu and Mohammedan saints. Nanak used to sing, and Mardana played the tambura. He said that if a Hindu was singing, at least a Mohammedan should play the tambura so that sometimes the song and the instrument may become one.


Nanak went to Mecca and also prayed in the mosque, but all his efforts at integrating the two religions failed. Pantha, a new religious sect of the Sikhs, was created by collecting together all that he said in the guru grantha. Some Sufi saints tried to bring the two religions closer, but all their efforts remained confined to preliminaries and did not grow.


There were reasons for this: the era and the people had not been fully developed until that time. But now the time has come, and large-scale efforts can be made. So my direction is the third. Neither do I want to resuscitate the old, nor do I want to create anything new. But my emphasis and insistence is only on walking -- in practicing whatever there is in the old and the new. It is your freedom to choose how you walk.
<p class="question">OSHO, IS IT POSSIBLE TO EXPERIENCE THE ETERNAL, THE IMMORTALITY ABOUT WHICH YOU HAVE BEEN TALKING, IN THE CONDITIONS AND CIRCUMSTANCES OF TODAY?</p>


The experience of the eternal has been there for all. There is no difficulty in having the experience. The difficulty is in giving expression to the experience. Buddha had the experience of the eternal, but Mahavira was expressing it in the old language and Buddha in a new language. I want to express it in the language of the eternal itself.


You mean to ask whether I had that experience seven hundred years ago. Yes, I nearabout had the experience then, but I am giving expression to it today. When one attempts today to express whatsoever was known seven hundred years ago, there will be no difference in the knowing, but there will be a great difference in expressing it. Seven hundred years ago it could not have been told in this way; there was no reason for it.


The situation is like the appearance of a rainbow during the monsoon. This is a very interesting happening. You can see the rainbow from where you are standing. The rainbow depends on three things: drops of water from the monsoon must be present in the atmosphere and water vapor must also be there. Then also, the rays of the sun must pass through them from a particular angle, and you must be at a particular spot in order to see the rainbow. If you move away from that place, the rainbow will be lost. In the making of a rainbow, not only do the sun's rays and the drops of water meet, but your standing in a particular place is also essential. Not only do the sun's rays and the water make a rainbow, but your eyes from a particular spot contribute just as much. You are one of the three constituent elements of the rainbow. If any one of these is removed, then the rainbow will be lost.


Thus, whenever truth is revealed, three things happen. First, the experience of the truth is there. If the experience is not there, its expression is not there, its expression is not possible. Wherever you stand and whatever the drops of rain do, if the sun does not rise, there can be no rainbow. Therefore, like the existence of the sun, the existence of the experience of truth is essential. And secondly, whenever there is an experience of truth the presence of the listener must also be there. But if the person expressing is not standing at the correct angle, then nothing can be expressed.


This is what happened to Meher Baba. While expressing, Meher Baba was not able to stand at the correct angle so that a rainbow could be created between his experience and the listener. Thus, many saints remain silent. There is a reason for remaining silent, and that is that they are not able to stand at a place where they can make a proper angle for the projection of their expression. This is also necessary. Otherwise, if the speaker is not standing at the right place, the experience of truth will remain on one side and the listener will remain on the other side. But if the speaker is in the right place and capable of speaking, but the listener, who is also a necessary element, is absent, then also no expression will take place.


Seven hundred years ago, whomsoever I would speak with would also be a part of my speaking. So when I speak to you, I cannot speak the same thing that I did with that listener who existed seven hundred years ago. And if you are not sitting before me but someone else is, then too I cannot speak the same thing -- because you are a basic part of what I am speaking and as much responsible for it as I am. Without you, the same thing could not be spoken. Thus, when all the three elements become attuned to the same wavelength, expression is possible.


If there is a small omission, everything is lost, the rainbow is dissolved. Then the sun does not do anything and the droplets of water in the atmosphere do not do anything. If even one of the constituent elements of the rainbow moves away, the rainbow vanishes immediately.


The expression of truth is like the existence of a rainbow. Every moment it is on the point of being lost. Even a slight shift of one thing or the other will result in its disappearance. If the listener shifts, the rainbow is lost. If the speaker shifts, the speaking will be useless. Thus, seven days ago I would not have been able to speak the same thing that I am speaking today, nor will I be able to repeat what I am telling you today in seven days because everything will have changed by then.


The sun will remain the same; it will go on giving light. But with the exception of the sun, the truth, the other two necessary constituents, the speaker and the listener, are always capable of changing. Therefore, the experience is that of seven hundred years ago, but the expression is of today. Even to call it of today is not proper. One should say of this moment. Even tomorrow, it will not be the same. The expression will go on changing every moment.
<p class="question">WOULD IT BE POSSIBLE FOR YOU TO DESCRIBE WHAT HAPPENS TO THE SOUL AFTER DEATH, WHERE IT MOVES ABOUT, WHAT IT DOES AND IN WHAT CONDITION IT IS DURING THE INTERVAL BETWEEN THE GIVING UP OF ONE BODY AND THE TAKING OF ANOTHER?
IN THIS CONNECTION, YOU HAD PREVIOUSLY DISCUSSED THE FREEDOM OF THE SOUL TO TAKE BIRTH WHENEVER IT SO DESIRED. PLEASE ENLIGHTEN US AS TO WHETHER THE SOUL ALSO HAS A FREEDOM TO CHOOSE WHETHER TO GIVE UP OR NOT GIVE UP THE BODY.</p>


It will be easier if we understand two or three things about the interval between the giving up of one body and the taking of another. First, the fact is that the experiences of that interval are like dreams. Whenever one experiences something, at that moment the experience is that of a real happening. But when one recalls it in memory, it becomes like a dream; it is dreamlike because there is no use of the senses. Your feeling and your conviction that a happening is real come through your senses and your body.


If I feel that I am seeing you, but then I try to touch you and find you cannot be touched, then I say that you are a mirage: you are not here. If I try to touch this table and if my hand passes through it without touching anything, then I would say this table is unreal, or that I am in some illusion, or that it is some hallucination. The test of reality is in the certificate of our senses.


But after the giving up of one body and before the taking of another we do not have senses. The body itself is not there, so whatever you might experience in that state is like a dream, as if you are seeing a dream. When we see dreams, we do not doubt their reality. This is very interesting. After some time we come to doubt its reality, but we never doubt it while in the dream. The dream seems real. That which is real sometimes causes us to doubt whether what is seen is real or not, but in a dream such a doubt is never created. Why? Because a dream will not tolerate the slightest doubt; otherwise it will immediately break.


A dream is such a delicate thing that a little doubt is enough to kill it. Just the feeling that it is only a dream is enough to break it, and then you will be awake. For a dream to continue, it is necessary not to have even an iota of doubt. By a slight doubt, even the deepest dream will be broken. Thus, we feel all that is seen in a dream to be a real happening. A dream appears more real than reality itself. The real can never seem so real, because it has a place for doubt. At the time of dreaming, the dream seems the most real.


In a dream, even if it is clear that something is impossible it does not appear as such. For example, in a dream some man is passing by. Suddenly he becomes a dog. You do not even think, "How can this happen?" It has happened and it is possible. There is no doubt. After waking up, you may think, "What is this nonsense?" but not until you are out of the dream. Everything is reasonable in a dream; there are no contradictions.


Someone is your friend and suddenly he aims his gun toward you. In your mind it does not occur to you to think, "How can a friend do this?" In a dream, all that is impossible becomes possible. After waking up, at the most you can remember dreams that took place only the last hour. Usually a dream becomes lost within five to seven minutes, but those who are very imaginative may, at the most, remember for not more than an hour. Otherwise, we will have so many dream memories that we will not be able to live. Within an hour the mind becomes free of dream smoke.


Just similar to this condition is the interval between two bodies. Whatever happens during that period seems absolutely real -- so real that we can never know such a reality with our eyes and senses. That is why there is no end to the happiness of gods. The heavenly damsels they encounter are so real to them -- real such as no woman seen through our senses can ever be. That is also why there is no end to the miseries of spirits. Their miseries befall them so realistically, such as they never do in real life.


So what we call heaven and hell are just deep dream lives. The intensity of the fire burning in hell can never be found in real life, though it is a very inconsistent fire. In scriptures, there are descriptions of the fires of hell, into which you are thrown without being burned. But one is never aware of this inconsistency -- that if you were thrown into an intense fire you would not be able to withstand the heat; yet you are not in any way being burned. This inconsistency, that "I am being burned in the fire," that the fire is terrible, that the burning is unbearable and yet "I am not burned at all," is realized only after one is out of this dreamlike experience.


In the interval between two births, there are two types of souls. One type is of evil souls. For them it is difficult to find a womb for another birth. I call such souls pretas, evil spirits. The other type consists of good souls. Them I call devas -- gods. For such souls also it is difficult to find suitable wombs for taking another birth.


Between these two are the majority of souls in which there is no fundamental difference, but only a difference of character, personality and mental make-up. They are of the same type; only their experiences will be different.


The evil souls return back to earth with such painful experiences that the remembering of them in itself is hell. Those who have been able to recollect such memories have described the conditions in hell. It is just a dreamland; it does not exist anywhere, but one who remembers having returned from there says that a fire such as he has seen there can find no comparison in this world, that the violence and the hatred which we find here are nothing compared to what he has seen there. The experience of heaven is also the same. The difference is only one of pleasant and painful dreams. This interval is a full dream period.


This is very philosophical but true, that it is only like a dream. We can understand what dreams are because we see them daily. You see a dream only when your senses are exhausted. In a deeper sense, it means that when your relationship with the senses breaks you sink into dream life. Dreams are also either of hell or heaven or mixed. Some people only see dreams of hell, some only of heaven.


You may think that you have seen a dream for eight hours of the night. But if this period is lengthened to eight years you will also not know, because there is no awareness of time. The hour that is passing is not clearly measured in memory. But this length of time can be measured by changes that took place in the interval between the memories of the past body and the memories of the present one.


But this is only a conjecture. During that interval, there is no clear awareness of the duration of time. Because of this, Christianity has said that there is hell forever. This is said on the basis of the memory of those who have seen a very long dream. It was such a long dream that when they returned they had no memory of any relationship between this body and the previous one. That is why they said that hell is eternal and it is very difficult to get out of it. Good souls see happy dreams and evil souls see unhappy dreams.  Only because of their dreams are they feeling unhappy and miserable.


In Tibet, when a person is on his deathbed, certain matters are told to him. This is done in order to create a dream sequence. When a man dies, he is told that now he should start visualizing that which is being suggested. Thus, a new atmosphere, a new conditioning, is being created.


It is interesting, but scientific. A dream can be created from the outside. If you are sleeping at night and if a wet cloth is applied to your feet, you will have a particular type of dream. If heat is applied with a heater, another type of dream is created. If cold is applied to your feet, you may dream that is is raining or that you are walking on ice. If heat is applied to your feet, you may dream that you are walking in a desert, that there is a scorching sun and you are full of perspiration.


Thus, dreams can be created from outside. Many dreams are created as a result of outer conditions. If your hand is heavy upon your chest, you may feel that someone is riding on your chest, although it is only your own hand.


At the time of death -- while giving up this body for the long period of dream life that is going to come, after which the soul may or may not take a new body -- a method has been devised in Tibet for creating a dream sequence. They call this bardo. It is a process in which Tibetans fully prepare a person for the experience of death and life after death. Any good impulses that have been there in one's life will be aroused while the person is still living. Also, such efforts are made throughout life as well.


I told you earlier that after awaking from sleep your dream is remembered for about one hour. Similarly, after taking a new birth, for about six months, up to the age of six months, almost everything is remembered. Afterwards it slowly becomes lost. Those who are very imaginative or very sensitive may remember a little longer, but those who have made efforts and who have experimented with being aware during the previous life can remember for a long time.


Just as in the morning for one hour a dreamlike smoke revolves around you, similarly, for about one hour before falling asleep at night, the shadow of a dream begins to overcome you.


In the same way, the shadow of death also begins to fall upon you during the six months prior to your death. Your death is predictable during those six months. When the shadow of death begins to surround you during those last six months, the preparations for death are begun.


That one hour before sleep, when the dream shadow begins falling upon you, is a very suggestible one. No other time is as suggestible, because at that time you have a doubt that you are still awake and the shadow of sleep is overtaking you. That is why all the religions of the world have decreed one hour before sleeping at night and one hour after awaking in the morning as the best times for prayers. It is known as sandhyakal -- the twilight time and the time of dawn.


Sandhyakal does not mean the time when the sun is setting or rising. It means the time when from wakefulness you are passing into sleep and from sleep you are passing into wakefulness. This in-between period is sandhyakal. The sun has nothing to do with it, but it has become associated with the sun from those days when the setting of the sun signified the time to sleep and the rising of the sun the time to wake up. But now this association must be broken because no one sleeps at sunset, nor does anyone rise with the sun. Actually speaking, sandhyakal means an hour before sleeping and an hour after waking. It means a period of time in between the two conditions of waking and sleeping.


Kabir has called his language sandhya-bhasha -- the twilight-and-dawn language. He has said that neither do we speak as if we are asleep, nor do we speak as if we are awake. We are just in the middle. We are in such difficulty that neither are we speaking from within ourselves nor from outside ourselves. We are standing in the middle, on the borderland, from where we are able to see what the eyes can see and also what the eyes cannot see. We are just on the threshold. So that which we are speaking includes that which cannot be said as well as all which can be spoken. That is why ours is a twilight-and-dawn language. Its meanings must be drawn very carefully.


That one-hour period in the morning and one-hour period in the night before sleeping is very valuable. Similarly, the six-month period after birth and the six-month period before death are equally valuable. But those who do not know the use of the one-hour twilight-and-dawn periods do not understand the importance and value of these six-month periods.


When there were civilizations which were very knowledgeable about these things, then the first six months after birth were known to be very important. Everything that is important can be given to the child in the first six months of life. In the first six months the child is suggestible and in its dawn period. After that, it is not possible and it becomes very difficult.


But we cannot make him understand by speaking. And because we do not know any other method but speaking, there are difficulties. Similarly, the six months before death are also valuable. In the first six months we cannot make a child understand our speech, and we do not know when the last six months before death have come. Thus, we lose both the opportunities.


But a person who utilizes properly the one hour before sleep and the one hour after waking will positively know when that six-month period before death begins. One who prays and meditates for one hour before sleep will clearly be able to feel when this twilight time before death has come. This is such a fine and subtle experience that it is neither like sleeping nor like waking. This experience is so fine and different that once it is properly understood one can become aware of the beginning of that six-month period before death -- because then the feeling of twilight will persist throughout the day. The experience and the feeling which was previously coming for only one hour before sleep will remain continuous and steady during these last six months.


That is why the last six months before death should be fully utilized for sadhana. The same six months are utilized by the Tibetans for bardo -- for a type of dream training which is given to plan what you will do after death. This training cannot be given just at the moment of death. It requires preparation, and only a person who is ready during these last six months can be trained during the first six months after birth in the next life; otherwise it is not possible. Those principles which are taught during these last six months lay the foundation for the training which can be given in the first six months of the new birth.


All these things have their own scientific thinking, their principles and their secrets. And everything can be tested as well. A person who has passed through this training would also remember what happened in the interval between two births, but this memory is the memory of a dream; it is not real.


Heaven and hell are also memories of a dream period. Descriptions can be given. It is only on such descriptions that concepts of heaven and hell have been evolved by all religions. The descriptions are different not because the places are different, but because the mental states of the individuals recalling the experiences are different. Therefore, when Christianity describes heaven, it will be different from what Hinduism will describe, because descriptions depend on different states of consciousness. Thus, the Jainas will describe it still differently and Buddhists also.


Actually, every person will bring back a different story. It is more or less like when we all sleep in the same room and then get up and describe our dreams. We have slept in the same room; we are at the same place, but our dreams will be different. Everything depends upon the person.


All experiences of heaven and hell are individual, but broad similarities can be found -- that there will be happiness in heaven and misery in hell, that such and such will be the form and shape of miseries and such and such will be the form and shape of happiness. All the descriptions that have been given thus far are, in a way, faithful narrations of different states of consciousness.


It has been asked, "If a person can choose his birth, can he also choose his death?" Here also two or three things will have to be remembered. The freedom to choose one's birth means that if one so desires he can take birth. This is the first freedom of a person who has reached supreme knowledge. If he desires, he can take birth. But no sooner is there a desire when the slavery begins with that very desiring.


I am standing outside a building. I have the freedom to enter the building if I want. But as soon as I enter the building, the limitations of the building immediately begin to influence my movements. Therefore, the freedom to choose death is not as great as the freedom to choose one's birth.


For an ordinary person, there is no freedom to choose death because he has not even chosen his birth. But the freedom of the one who is realized to choose his birth is total, and it is a very great one in the sense that he can also refuse to take birth if he so desires. But once the choice to take birth is made, a number of bondages begin coming into play -- because he chooses limitations. He gives up the unlimited space and enters the narrow passage. The narrow passage imposes its own limitations.


Now he chooses a womb. Ordinarily, one doesn't choose his womb. But when a realized person chooses, he has to make a choice from hundreds of thousands of such wombs that are available. He chooses out of them; from among those he chooses. But no sooner does he choose than he enters the world of bondage. All wombs have their limitations. He chooses one mother and one father. In the process, he has chosen the same longevity as had the fertilized eggs of his parents. The selection has been made, and now he will have to use this body.


If you go to the market and purchase a machine with a ten-year guarantee, the limit is set. The machine is knowingly purchased, so there is no question of slavery. You do not say, "I purchased this machine, and now I am enslaved because it will only last for ten years." You have chosen in full knowledge that it will last for ten years, and so the matter ends. There is no sense of pain or sting in this.


The one who takes birth consciously knows when the body will die, so he has the awareness of a death-oriented body. In such persons there is a sort of impatience which is not to be seen in ordinary people. If we study the story of Jesus, we will feel that he is very impatient, as if something is going to happen to him in just a few moments. Those who are listening to him do not understand his difficulties because they are not very much aware of their own approaching death. But for Jesus, death is standing in front of him; he knows when it is going to happen.


Jesus asks you to complete the work today, and you say you will do it tomorrow. Then Jesus is in a difficulty because he may not be there tomorrow. Therefore, whether it is Mahavira or Buddha or Jesus, they are in a hurry. They are running at great speed because among so many dead people they are the ones who are aware of everything. Therefore, such individuals are always in a hurry. It would not make any difference if such realized ones could live to a hundred or two hundred years of age, because any length of time is short for them. We do not find time short because we do not know when it will end. We even keep on forgetting that it will end.


The freedom to choose one's birth is a very great one, but birth itself is an entry into a jail, and all the limitations of the jail will have to be accepted. But such a person accepts these things naturally because it is his choice. If he has come to a jail, he is not brought there; he has come by himself. Therefore, he stretches out his hands for chains to be put on. In these chains there is no sting, no pain. He sleeps near dark walls without any difficulty because he has come into the prison out of his own free will. He could have stayed under the open sky, but he has come to the prison out of his own free will.


When slavery is by choice it is freedom, but if freedom is without choice it is slavery. Freedom and slavery are clearly demarcated entities. If we have chosen slavery of our own will it is freedom, but if freedom is imposed upon us it is slavery. For one who has taken birth consciously, things are seen very clearly, and so he makes his decisions with ease. He knows that he will live for seventy years, so he decides clearly what he has to do within that time. He picks up only such things which he can complete; he does not spread his net too far into the future. Whatsoever he can do just tomorrow, he will do -- and he will complete it; that is why he does not ever remain in anxiety.


As he goes on living, he is preparing to die also. Death is also a preparation for him. In one sense he is in a hurry -- as far as others are concerned. Where he himself is concerned he is not in any hurry. For himself nothing remains to be done. He can even choose how he will die. If he has to die within the limits of seventy years, he is able to decide what momentum to give to the body -- when, how and in what manner he will die.


There was one Zen nun. She had informed people that she would die after six months. She prepared for herself a pyre on which her body was to be burned. On the appointed day she climbed upon it, bowed to all those standing around her, and then some of these friends set fire to the funeral pyre. When the flames of the fire came near her, someone from the crowd asked, "Aren't you feeling very hot?"


The nun laughed and said, "What a fool you are! Even at this last opportunity you are asking such silly questions. You could have asked something useful and important. I know and you know also that if I sit within the flames I will feel hot."


But this was her choice. She was laughing while she was being burned. She had selected even the moment of her death, and she wanted to teach the disciples standing around her that it is possible to die laughing. For those who are not even able to live laughing, this message that one can even die laughing is very important.


Death also can be well planned, but what the choice will be will depend upon the one who is choosing. However, this is all within limits. If I have to remain within this room, I can decide in which corner I will sit -- whether to sleep on the left side or the right side; such is my freedom. Such a person makes use even of his death and makes use of everything in his life. Sometimes such use may be apparent, sometimes not. In fact, he takes birth only to be useful to others. For himself there is no need. Becoming useful to others is his purpose. But it is very difficult for us to understand his experiments. Usually, we are not able to understand them. Whatsoever he is doing, we are not aware of it. It cannot be done with our knowledge.


Now a person like Buddha will never say, "I will die tomorrow." If the time when he has to die is tomorrow, it is of no use to tell it today. Then that which could be done today will also not get done. Then people will begin to cry and weep even from today. Then even these next four hours cannot be usefully spent. So such a person will remain silent for some time, but later on he may proclaim his death aloud. However, he will decide according to the prevailing situation.


From womb to tomb, the birth after self-realization is one of training. But this training is not for the enlightened one's sake. It is a discipline, but not for his own sake. The strategy will have to be changed constantly because all strategies become old and burdensome and become difficult for people to understand.


For example, Gurdjieff: he would first make you pay a hundred dollars before he would answer your question, while Mahavira would not even touch any money. And Gurdjieff would reply only in one or two sentences. If another question were to be asked, he would make the questioner pay another hundred dollars. Many times people asked him what he was doing. Those who knew him were puzzled because one moment it appeared as if he was going to keep the money and the next he would distribute it to others. Why then demand a hundred dollars?


Gurdjieff said that to tell those who have valued only money in life anything about God free of charge would be of no value. Such people cannot evaluate things that are received without payment. Gurdjieff meant that for receiving anything of value, one will have to pay something in return one way or the other. One who is not ready to pay anything has no right to receive.


But people thought that Gurdjieff loved money because he would not reply without receiving a payment. As I see it, in the West where he lived, where people could only value money, only such a teacher could be effective. He knew that when you have shown a readiness to pay for every word, then you have known its value. You will only take home what you have paid for, not something that is received free.


Gurdjieff would do things the likes of which you would not approve. His disciples would be embarrassed. They would tell him that if he would refrain from such actions it would be better. But Gurdjieff would do them knowingly and intentionally. He would be sitting, and if you went to see him he would make faces as if he were a villain. He would not look like a saint at all. Having experimented for a long time on Sufi methods, he could suddenly make his eyes squint and change into cunning expressions.


His whole appearance changed with the change in the angle of his eyes. Between a saint and a villain there is not much difference in appearance except in the angles of their eyes. As soon as this is changed, a saint can look like a villain and vice versa.


Gurdjieff's eyes were very shifty and quick-changing. Even the person who was sitting beside him would not know that he had frightened the newcomer. The newcomer would be so much frightened that he might feel like running away. When Gurdjieff's friends came to know of this, they asked him why he was behaving in this way. Even before they came to know anything about that newcomer, the newcomer would be frightened off. Why?


Gurdjieff would then explain that the newcomer would have found a villain in him even if he were a saint; it would have taken him some time though. But Gurdjieff did not want him to waste his time, so he showed him what he had come to look for and indicated that he may now go away, because he would have unnecessarily wasted his three or four visits only to find the same thing.


But if a newcomer would remain unmoved in spite of such behavior, only then would Gurdjieff have tried to do some work on him. Thus, if he had really come to know truth, he would wait patiently and not come to hasty conclusions.


So it depends upon the teacher how he wants to teach. Sometimes even for his whole life, it is not possible for you to know his purpose. The teacher utilizes every moment of his life from birth to death. He doesn't even waste a single moment. His every moment is deeply meaningful, and it is part of a grand purpose and a great destiny.
			

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