Nirvana

Upanishad
Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh
Chapter 5 : Living in Awareness

Awareness is the sannyasin’s protection;

compassion is his only play;
bliss is his mala.
The aloneness of the inner cave is his posture;
unwavering joy is his only dialogue.
Unplanned are his alms.
He behaves like the swan.
His only teaching:
the soul residing within every living being is the true swan.

I have heard...

A blind man asked a fakir to acquaint him with the roads of his
town so that he would not get lost. Then he asked for a method for
not stumbling over anything, so that in a town where people with
eyes lived, a blind man like himself could also successfully live his
life.
The fakir replied, "I will not show you any path or any method.”
Naturally, hearing the reply, the blind man became very
unhappy. He had never thought a fakir, whose nature is
compassion, would behave like that. He asked again, “Don’t you
have any compassion for me?”
The fakir replied, “Only because I have compassion, I will not
show you any path or method. I would like to show you instead a
way to open your eyes. You may learn the paths of this town, but
the paths are changing daily. You may learn to live among these
people, but then the people will change. You may learn methods to
live, but these methods will work only within a limited range. This is
why I will show you a method for opening your own eyes.”
 The sage of this Upanishad says:

Awareness is the sannyasin's protection...

For a sannyasin, there is nothing but his awareness and his

discriminating intelligence; that is his only protection. There is no
other moral, no other rule, no other limitation or fear. He has no
fear of hell or desire for paradise. His only protection is his
discriminating intelligence, his awareness: these are his only eyes.
It will be good to understand this: awareness and discriminating
intelligence are protections. In these two words is hidden a deep
meaning. In them is contained the essence of all religion.
There is one method of living: by previous planning. What is to
be done is decided in advance - where to go, where not to go.
Everything is planned in advance because you have no trust in your
own consciousness. That is why you are always thinking about the
future and why you keep on repeating the past. Whatever you did
yesterday you find easier to do today because you have known it.
You are acquainted with it, you can recognize it.
But the sannyasin lives from moment to moment, here and now.
He does not repeat his past because those who act like that are
living as if dead. He does not plan for the future because that is
done by those who are simply blind. How his consciousness is
moving at any particular moment becomes his action. He lives
naturally, in the present moment. This is very dangerous, but this
Upanishad teaches that awareness and discrimination are the
sannyasin's only protections. He lives in total awareness and that
is his protection; he has no other method of protection.
He does not promise in advance that he will not become angry.
Someone who promises in advance does so because he is really
an angry person; he can become angry at any moment. He knows
that if a protective layer of promises is not created, the flood of
anger can erupt at any time. So he prepares himself in advance:
he swears that he will not be angry. But tomorrow if someone
abuses him, the anger will burst out. Then he repents and again
makes even stricter vows; he makes new rules and finds new
methods of self-control. But in this way it is not possible to be free
of anger, because the mind that made the rule, that took the vow
and set the limits, is not the total mind.
The whole mind is very large. One part wants to throw the anger
out; that small part of the mind that took the oath is pushed into the
background. But after the event is over and the anger has cooled,
that small part again comes forward, right to the forefront of the
mind. Then you repent and feel remorseful about what you have
done. You are surprised that, despite your vow, it has happened.
But in that moment of anger, that repentant part of the mind is
pushed to the back.
Only a very small part of your mind is aware. The rest of the
mind, the larger part, is sleeping. The anger will burst out of the
sleeping part, and the vow was taken by the awake part. The
sleeping mind has not heard anything of the awakened part. In the
evening you decide that you will get up at four o’clock in the
morning, but at four o'clock you just turn over, half asleep and say,
“What harm is there if I don’t get up today? I can do it tomorrow."
Later on, when you wake up, you are full of regrets: “Why didn’t I
get up at four o'clock as I had planned?” If you had only one awake
mind, such a conflict would not arise.
It is as if there are many minds, not only one. It can be said that
man is multi-psychic. A man is not one but many, a crowd: one
mind takes the oath and the rest of the crowd knows nothing about
it. One mind decides to get up at four o'clock, and at that hour
another part of the mind persuades you: "Let me sleep longer. Why
bother getting up?" Your whole life passes in this way.
A person who lives bound by rules can never take steps toward
the highest truths of life. I am not saying to live by breaking all the
rules, no; neither do I say remove all the boundaries. The fakir did
not tell the blind man to throw away his stick before he was able to
see. I also do not say that; a stick is necessary until your eyes have
opened. But it is foolish to think that the stick is your eyes. It is
sheer madness and obstinacy to hold the stick in your hands even
when your eyes are able to see.
The sannyasin is concerned with his complete awakening. He
awakens all the sleeping and dormant parts of his mind and
integrates them. The name of that integrated consciousness is
awareness: when the mind is no longer divided into parts but
becomes an integrated whole; when inside one total individual is
born whose yes means yes and whose no means no. The
consciousness that is attuned to a single sound - this awakened
consciousness, this totally integrated consciousness - is called
awareness.
Therefore, the sage says that awareness is the only protection,
nothing else. This is the real protection because when there is
awareness, there is no possibility of making mistakes. It is not that
mistakes are avoided, it is not that mistakes are fought against.
When there is total awareness, mistakes simply do not happen. For
example, if a man’s eyes are open, he does not hit his head against
the wall, he goes through the door. In the same way, when the eye
of awareness is open within, a man can never choose the wrong;
the right becomes his only possibility.
Awareness is his protection. To become totally awake and aware
is the only real protection in this world. To remain asleep is to invite
a thousand types of confusions and insanities, a thousand
diseases. If you remain asleep, a thousand types of enemies will
enter your life, tear your life to pieces, destroy it. To be totally
awake is the watchword.
The sannyasin is one who is always vigilant, who lives in total
awareness. When he takes a step, he knows he is taking a step.
When he breathes, he remains aware of his breathing. When the
breath goes in, he knows it has gone in; when the breath goes out,
he knows it has gone out. When a thought arises in his mind he
knows it, when it subsides he also knows it. When his mind is empty
he knows it is empty, when it is full he knows it is so.
One thing is certain: there is a constant awareness, a continuous
current of knowing. Whatever the condition or the situation, the
thread of knowing is continuous. That is the protection, because
then one can do nothing which is wrong. All wrongness is because
of unconsciousness, lack of awareness.
But only a rare individual becomes totally awake: a Buddha, a
Mahavira, a Christ. In this world of sleeping people sometimes one
individual awakens - and you condemn such a person. When
everyone is asleep, the awakening of one man disturbs the sleep
of others. That awakened man feels to awaken others, but those
who are asleep become very angry - their sleep is disturbed. And
this awakened man speaks in such a way that it destroys the
dreams of those who are asleep. Sleeping people want to kill the
one who has awakened. When he is gone they begin to worship
him, and in their sleep their worship can continue.
It is difficult to be with an awakened person. There are only two
ways: either he agrees with you and he sleeps, or you agree with
him and you become awake. But the first is not possible because
one who has awakened will not want to again be asleep. One who
has diamonds in his hands will not exchange them for pebbles. One
who has tasted nectar cannot be persuaded to drink dirty water,
impossible! So with an awakened person, the only way is to
become awakened yourself.
This is the meaning of the word satsang, to be in the presence
of an awakened one. Perhaps being near him, your sleep may
break. Even if a fraction of your sleep breaks, even if your eyes
open for a moment and you get a glimpse of an awakened one,
then perhaps a desire, a thirst, a longing will arise in you and you
may also set out on the journey of awakening. If it ever happens
that many people are awakened and a society of awakened people
is created, only then will you be able to say that all those people
judged in history as criminals were wrongly judged by you; they
were just sleeping people, and sleeping people are bound to
commit crimes.
If a child commits a crime, the courts forgive him on the grounds
that he does not have a mature understanding. An adult is
presumed to have an understanding of the things he does. Even
when a drunk person commits a crime, the courts either forgive him
or reduce the sentence because he committed the act in a drunken
state, when he was not fully aware. How can he be held
responsible?
You assume that you are aware, but the truth is that your whole
history is of people doing things in their sleep. In the past three
thousand years of human history, there have been descriptions of
many wars: during these three thousand years, fourteen thousand
seven hundred battles have been fought and recorded. Besides
this, you quarrel daily with others; your whole life is nothing but a
conflict. What else can you earn throughout your lives except
unhappiness? This unhappiness is the inevitable result of your
remaining asleep.
The sage says that for a sannyasin, the wisdom that is full of
awareness is his security. The ancient sages must have been very
courageous to have said such a thing. They did not say that there
is security in morality or that there is security in being law-abiding.
They did not say that there is security in remaining within certain
limits, or that there is security in scriptures or in a guru. They said
there is security in awareness, and there is no other protection.

.. .compassion is his only play...

Compassion is the only play of one who is awakened. The only

interest that has survived in him is compassion; it is the only thing
that has remained in him that is of any worth.
Buddha lived for forty years after his enlightenment. One may
ask why he lived so long after enlightenment - the only reason was
his compassion. Mahavira also lived long after his enlightenment.
Once a person has had the supreme experience, what is the need
to go on carrying the burden of this physical body? The only reason
is compassion. All the desires of one who is enlightened have
dissolved, and compassion arises in their place. The power and
energy that had been used to fulfill desires are transformed into
compassion.
You all live for desire; desire alone is your whole life. You live to
achieve something. When desire is transformed into compassion,
the situation is completely reversed. The meaning of compassion
is that you live to give something.
But our world is full of contradictions. Those who are full of
desires are called kings and those who are full of compassion are
called beggars. Those who are always giving are called beggars
and those who are always taking are called kings. There is deep
irony in this.
Buddha described himself as a beggar. People were pleased
that Buddha was taking alms from them - there was no doubt he
was a beggar. But could they ever measure what Buddha was
giving to them? Buddha gives to you in such a manner that you do
not even notice that he is giving. By taking two crumbs of bread
from you, he poses as a beggar so that you will not feel obliged to
him when he gives you some invaluable message.
Compassion does not even let you feel that you are under any
obligation. You are so foolish: if you come to know that Buddha has
given you something, your ego will be hurt. You may close your
doors to being receptive. But when Buddha accepts some food
from you, your ego feels satisfied. You do not realize that you are
fighting a losing battle. Buddha takes food from you, but you do not
know what he gives in return. Buddha will not get anything by taking
the food, but what he gives will destroy your ego, will reduce it to
ashes. The pride that is within you will be dissolved.
Compassion means living to give, desire means living to take.
Desire is the beggar and compassion is the king. And who can
give? - whosoever has something of his own can give. You live your
whole life asking for something, wanting something; you don’t have
anything to give. You even want somebody to give you love. You
want money, position and so many other things: somebody must
give them to you.
The greatest political leader is also a beggar because he
demands something from everyone. He lives on it. If you praise
him, he gets a good reputation; if you condemn him, he is
dethroned. If his name does not appear in the newspapers for a
few days, he is finished, people forget him. After a while people do
not even know who he was. They forget that any such man ever
existed.
Lenin came to power in Russia in 1917. Before him, the prime
minister was a man named Kerensky, who lived until 1960. Only
when Kerensky died did people come to know that he had been
alive until then. He had been working in a grocery store in America.
The Russians had forgotten him completely. Only when his death
was announced in the newspapers did people come to know that
he had still been alive. There was a time, before Lenin, when he
wielded the greatest power in Russia; then he became a nobody.
Demanding is not the way of a sannyasin: a sannyasin is one
who lives by giving. But he never talks about giving, he does not let
you feel that he is giving. Instead, he behaves in such a way that
you feel that you have given him something. Compassion is his
only play...
You will be surprised to know that compassion can be play. It is
not that compassion is his work - compassion is his play. What is
the difference between work and play? There are a few
fundamental differences. First, work is of no intrinsic value, but play
is valuable in itself. When you go for a walk in the morning, if
somebody asks you why you are going for a walk, you will reply,
"Because I enjoy it.” You have not gone for a walk in order to reach
somewhere; there is no goal, no purpose. Again, if you walk on the
same road going to your office and someone asks you, "Are you
having a good walk?” you will reply, "I am not taking a walk, I am
going to my office”
Have you ever thought about it, that you are the same person
walking on the same road? The road is the same and you are also
the same - but when you go for a walk in the morning your feet are
filled with a sort of pleasure, but when you are going to your office
your feet carry the burden of the work you have to do there.
Everything - you, the road, your feet and their way of walking - is
the same, but while going to the office walking becomes work and
while going for a walk it is a play. Those who are foolish make even
their play a work, whereas those who are intelligent make even
their work a play.
The sage says compassion is his play, not his work; it is not a
burden. It was not pre-determined by Buddha that he would create
a certain number of monks during his lifetime. He did not feel that
if a certain number was not reached he would become unhappy,
miserable, remorseful. Buddha did not plan in advance to remove
your ignorance and that if it did not happen he would cry and weep.
For him it was play, his joy that you become awakened. If you do
not awake, it will be your choice; then the matter is over for him. If
not even one person became awakened, Buddha would remain in
the same inner bliss; it would make no difference to his bliss. It was
Buddha's joy to share, but if someone did not partake of it, it was
not his responsibility; he was not disturbed.
So it is said by the sage that if compassion becomes play it is
joy, if it becomes work it will be a burden. Otherwise, Buddha would
have had to keep count of how many people he had spoken to and
how many had accepted what he said. If none had accepted, then
he would have felt that his effort had been wasted.
Remember: in work, when something is not done totally,
completely, and so it does not bear fruit, then the effort has been
wasted. Play brings joy - and joy is never a waste. Play is self-
fulfilling. So it is said that only play can be free of any expectation
of reward, gain, profit. Work can never be free of expected reward.
In the Bhagavadgita, Krishna talks about action without reward.
The sage of this Upanishad has used a better word than Krishna,
play. As long as there is an expectation of reward, an act remains
work; otherwise, you will have to describe it as play. So the sage
did not say that compassion is his act, he said it is his play.
Nowhere in his mind is there any desire for reward. The sage has
not set out to fulfill any desire in the future. There is no arrow of
desire aimed at some target. It is just a delight, a joy, fun. There is
an overflowing of joy within. That joy is trying to spread out and be
shared.
For example, a tree has flowered and the fragrance fills the
surrounding area: this is play. The tree is not bothered about who
is passing by or who is sitting beneath it - whether he is a VIP, a
famous person or a poor laborer. The tree does not bother whether
a man or a donkey passes by. The tree has no expectation. The
tree gives the same shade to a donkey as to a political leader. The
flower makes no distinction: even if no one passes, its fragrance
still flows because that is its inner pleasure. It is not projected
toward anything, it is not conditional. There is no address written
on it so that it reaches someone in particular, no. It is unaddressed.
Fragrance is the flower’s inner creation. It is the flower's innermost
expression that overflows for anyone or anything - or for nothing.
The winds may carry it away and distribute it on empty fields and
uninhabited roads. The tree is happy to squander its fragrance and
its joy.
There was a famous psychiatrist, Wilhelm Reich. He was one of
the greatest personalities of the past half-century. What usually
happens with such intelligent people happened also with him: he
was put in jail for two years. A person who wasn’t in the least crazy
was condemned as a lunatic by American law and thrown in prison.
Even though we accumulate thousands of years of experience,
human beings do not change: we go on doing the same things
again and again.
I have heard a surprising story about Reich. He was treating a
mental patient with analysis. The patient was given an appointment
at 3:00 p.m. but did not arrive on time. It was 3:15 p.m. when the
patient came running in and asked to be forgiven for coming late.
Reich said, “You arrived just on time. I was just about to begin
work.”
The patient asked, “If I had not come, how could you have begun
the work? After all, it is I who is going to be psychoanalyzed.”
If a flower throws its fragrance in an uninhabited place, we can
understand, but if Wilhelm Reich begins the psychoanalysis in the
absence of his patient, we will call him mad.
Reich said, “You are only an excuse. Even if you had not come,
I would have begun the work. It is my joy!”
 It is difficult to understand this man. It is easier to understand the
flower because we cannot imagine that a flower can be mad. It is
different to understand a man. In fact, it has happened that
awakened people’s words have poured out of them even without
anyone’s presence, just like a flower’s fragrance.
I have heard about Lao Tzu that many times he would speak
sitting alone under a tree. Once, a passerby was surprised to see
this. He stopped, approached and asked Lao Tzu, “There is no one
to hear you. To whom are you speaking?”
Lao Tzu replied, “It is my inner feeling. Something has come to
life within me and I am pouring it out. Now there is no one to listen,
but perhaps someone may hear sometime. Today there is no one
to hear, but today the feeling to speak has arisen. Tomorrow it may
happen that a listener is present and the speaker is no longer there.
So, I just go on releasing my inner feeling. The atmosphere, the air
will preserve it, the sky will remember it, and when some listener is
ready, he will hear.”
This is difficult to understand, but it is like this. Such people do not
live for work, they live for play. Life, to them, is not a burden but a
dance. The sage says:
Bliss is his mala.
He wears only the mala - the necklace of bliss. In that mala the
beads are made of bliss and the string is made of bliss. He lives
every moment in that state of bliss. There is no circumstance that
can make him unhappy.
You are all happy or unhappy in certain circumstances.
Remember this: as long as there is a reason for your being happy
or unhappy, you will not know what bliss is. Bliss is without cause.
All causes are outside, bliss is within. If you live dependent on
situations and circumstances, you are bound to be a slave. You will
be a slave because the circumstances can change at any time;
they can result in happiness or unhappiness. Circumstances are
not in your hands. Bliss is his mala.
Those who have gone deep into sannyas have never depended
on circumstances; there is no outer reason for their happiness or
misery. They are just joyful without any reason. Circumstances
cannot do anything to them. Even if you burn them, they will be in
the same joy. You may shower flowers on them, they are in the
same joy. There is not a single iota of difference as far as they are
concerned. When nothing from the outside can make any
difference, only then are you free, not before.
This does not mean that if you thrust a knife into the chest of
Buddha, he will not die. This does not mean that if a thorn pierces
Buddha's foot, blood will not flow. Blood definitely will flow -
perhaps more blood will flow from his foot than yours, because
Buddha cannot be miserly even to a thorn! Even if a knife is being
thrust into his chest, he will cooperate with it: the knife will go
deeper. If Buddha is poisoned, Buddha will die - but still, within him,
it will make no difference. In fact, Buddha died of poisoning. Poison
was given by mistake, unknowingly.
A poor man had invited Buddha for a meal. In Bihar, people
collect mushrooms. These wild mushrooms grow during the rainy
season in a moist, wet, muddy place. They are shaped like
umbrellas. They are collected by poor people during the rainy
season and dried to serve as vegetables for the whole year - but
sometimes they are poisonous.
The poor man had been collecting mushrooms and preserving
them and he invited Buddha for a meal. Many people tried to stop
Buddha from going there to eat. On that very day the local king had
come to invite Buddha for a meal, but it was too late; Buddha had
already accepted the invitation of the poor man. So Buddha went
to the home of the poor man for his meal.
The man did not have much to offer, only bread, salt and a few
vegetables made with the mushrooms. The mushroom was
poisonous and bitter but Buddha went on eating it, praising the
taste as he ate. He said, "You have prepared the meal with such
love! I have taken meals in many places, even in palaces of kings,
but never have I received such love as from you.”
But as soon as Buddha had reached the place where he was
staying, the poison began to spread in his body. The doctors were
called but it was too late: Buddha died from that poisonous meal.
Before he died Buddha called Ananda, his closest disciple, and
whispered to him, “Ananda! Go to the town and make it public
through the beating of the drums that the person at whose house I
took my meal is very blessed. The first blessed one was my mother,
who gave birth to me and gave me my first meal. This man is as
blessed as my mother because he has given me my last meal."
Ananda asked, "What sort of talk is this? My whole being is rising
against this man!”
Buddha said, “It is only because of this that I am telling you to
announce it. Otherwise, after my death that poor man will be in
great trouble. People may try to kill him, thinking that due to his
poisonous meal Buddha has died.”
The death was caused by the poison, but Buddha’s compassion
made him worry that the poor man might get into trouble. Dying,
Buddha was worrying only about this: he did not want any
condemnation to be attached to the name of the poor man because
of this incident. Historians may say that this poor man killed
Buddha, but for Buddha it did not make any difference. For such
people, joy is their mala, their existence.

The aloneness of the inner cave is his posture...

His only place of rest is within his innermost core. In this phrase
there are two words that should be understood: aloneness and
inner cave. If aloneness is to be found anywhere, it can be nowhere
else except within yourself. You can go anywhere - to the highest
mountain, to Kailash, the holy peak in the Himalayas where Lord
Shiva is supposed to reside, to the deepest jungle or cave - and
you will have no privacy. Whosoever seeks privacy outside will
never find it. Wherever you may go, the other is always present. If
there are no human beings there, there will be birds and animals,
there will be plants, trees and stones - but the other will always be
present on the outside. There is no way of saving oneself from the
other on the outside. There is only one place, the inner cave, where
there is no one but oneself. That is the only place of real aloneness,
of real solitude.
The sage says the only resting place is within the innermost
cave, and entering that inner, solitary cave is the sannyasin's only
posture. The sages are interested only in the inner posture.
You know many other body postures, such as the yogis practice.
Some stand on their heads, some sit in a lotus position, but this is
not the posture the sage speaks about. These are also outside
activities. They may be healthful and beneficial, but they are not for
the sage, for those who have the desire to merge with the ultimate;
their only place of rest is in their innermost core of being, where it
is solitary, alone. That is the only place to be. There, there is only
being.
It will be very helpful to understand that where there is
aloneness, there is no “I.” For the survival of the “I” the other has to
be present. “I” is only the other end of the other. If the "thou” is not
there, there is no way to be the “I”. Only with the "you” is the "I”
born. That is why we are in search of the crowd. As much as the "I"
exists in the crowd, in the same proportion the “I” dissolves in the
inner aloneness. When a big crowd pays attention to you, your “I”
becomes stronger, more crystallized. Your interest in being a
leader lies in the eyes of the crowd that is looking at you: then your
“I” becomes very strong.
If there is no one to see you, if there is no "you” present, then
your “I” also cannot be present. The "I” is only a reaction to the
"thou”; it is an echo. When you move within yourself, in that
absolute solitude where no other is present, where the duality is
dissolved, where the other is completely forgotten, the “I” also is
forgotten.
When the "you" is destroyed the “I” is also dropped. Then, only
the aloneness remains. Neither is there “you” nor is there “I”;
neither is there any “mine” nor is there any "yours.”
Even the self is not there, even the ego is not there. That solitary
state is described as the sannyasin’s posture. This is the only
posture that is worth taking. This is the only posture that is worth
sitting in, being immersed in, living in, merging with.

...unwavering joy is his only dialogue.

The sage is saying that to speak of unwavering joy is the only

discussion worth having, the only teaching of any value.
Unwavering joy is possible only when the "I” becomes so alone that
it is dissolved. If any other is present, the bondage will remain. Even
if the "I” is saved, the bondage will remain. When neither the “I” nor
the "thou” are left, the consciousness becomes absolutely free,
without any ties. This unwavering joy is described as the only
dialogue, the only true companion, and the only communion. The
words of the sage spring from joy; his constant awareness is to
move with that joy. Living in that joy is his life, entering his
aloneness so totally that the “I” is nowhere to be found.
You are even capable of keeping company with your own self.
Have you ever thought about it? When you do not find anyone to
talk to, you begin to talk to yourself. Have you ever thought about
people who play cards alone, from both sides? When there is no
one there to play with, what will you do? A man deals the cards and
plays both sides himself. You also are playing both sides, twenty-
four hours a day. Within you a continuous dialogue goes on.
Ordinarily, when the other is not present there can be no talking,
but you continue the dialogue with yourself. You become both the
thief and the magistrate. A big drama is played within you: you act
out all the roles, you say what you have to say and then you also
answer.
Mulla Nasruddin was traveling by train. As he was sitting there,
suddenly, for no apparent reason, he would begin to laugh loudly
Then again he would stop laughing, become quiet and listen
attentively. His eyes remained closed the whole time: he was not
talking with anybody there seemed to be no reason for his laughter.
The people sitting in the compartment with him were surprised.
When this laughter was repeated three or four times, someone
gathered courage to ask Mulla, “What is the matter? Why do you
suddenly laugh like that?”
Mulla said, “Do not disturb me! I am telling myself jokes.” Then
again he closed his eyes and began laughing and stopping. But
sometimes, instead of laughing, he seemed to be grunting - “Ugh!
Ugh!”
His fellow passengers, overcome by curiosity, asked again,
"What is this? Before, you were laughing. I could understand that.
But what is this disgusting noise you are making?”
Mulla replied, “Oh, some of the jokes are so old.”
Sometimes it is just old jokes...
This is happening all the time within you. Even while alone, you
are not alone: you divide yourself into opposite camps and continue
the dialogue. Watch this inner routine.
The sage is saying that the sannyasin becomes so alone that he
cannot even talk to himself. Now his life is just silence, joy and bliss;
nothing else vibrates within him but joy. There is nothing left except
bliss - that is the dance, the song. That is the only dialogue.

Unplanned are his alms.

The sannyasin eats only what is not specially made for him: it
will be good to understand this. The sannyasin lives by
surrendering himself to existence. He does not plan for himself and
his life, he lives in an unplanned way. When he becomes hungry,
he goes out to begfor food. He does not know whether he will get
any food or not, or what sort of food it will be. He does not know
who will give him food. Everything is unplanned, without prior
thought. If it is planned, then it is no longer the begging of a
sannyasin. If every morning he thinks about a particular thing to
eat, the begging becomes planned. Then it is not the begging of a
sannyasin but the begging of a beggar.
For a sannyasin, everything is unpredictable and unplanned.
When he is hungry, he goes out and stands in front of someone's
door for food. If he gets it, fine; otherwise he moves on. Whatsoever
is received is good enough; he accepts it and eats it with pleasure.
He does not send any message in advance that he will come for
meals the next day. This prior warning would bring in expectations
and planning. A sannyasin knows that if existence wants him to
live, it will take care of his living. From his side he is serene, without
demands.
Each evening Mohammed would distribute to others all that he
possessed. All day people would give him so many things, so many
offerings, and he would give it all away each night because he
wanted to remain a beggar. Every night he went to sleep as a
beggar; again the next morning someone would come and give him
something.
Once, Mohammed became ill. His wife thought it was possible
that some medicine might be urgently needed that night, that a
doctor would have to be called, so she set aside just five dinars. At
midnight Mohammed began to toss and turn in his bed. He told his
wife, "I have a feeling that if at this moment I were to die, I would
not die a beggar.” His wife became frightened: how could he have
known that she had set aside some money?
Mohammed said, “All my life I have been a beggar. I have slept
each night without keeping anything for myself. Now something
seems to have changed. It feels like something in the house has
been saved. Please bring it to me so I can give it away. Otherwise,
what will I say in the court of Allah? He might think that on my last
day I lost trust in him. The one who has saved me all through my
life, will he not send me a doctor at night if I need one? The one
who has given us food for our whole lives, will he not send some
medicine for me? Do not embarrass me in my last days. After my
death, how will I show my face to him? He will tell me that I trusted
more in the five dinars than in him. So please give away that
money.”
His wife, very much disturbed by this, took out the money, and
Mohammed told her to distribute it.
When his wife opened the door she was surprised to find a
beggar waiting there. The beggar said, "I am in great trouble. My
companion is sick and he needs medicine. I was wondering who
would give me money at midnight. And now you have opened the
door and you are giving me five dinars!” Mohammed then told his
wife, “See, the divine’s ways are mysterious. The one who needed
money got it, and the one who had saved it lost it"
As soon as the money had been given away, Mohammed
covered himself with a sheet and said to his wife, “Now I can die
without any worry.” Immediately, his breathing stopped.
Those who know say that his life was being weighed against
those five dinars. Those five dinars were very heavy, weighty.
A sannyasin is a beggar who does not plan for his food. Not only
does he not plan for his food, he does not plan about anything.
There is no question of any desire or demand for anything. He gives
thanks for whatsoever is received and even for what is not
received. This means that he does not live for himself; he lives in
total surrender to existence. Wherever it wants to take him, he
goes. If it takes him into misery, yes; if into happiness, also yes. If
he is stays in a palace, no question; if in a hut, then too, no
question. Wherever existence wants to take him he is completely
in its hands.
Have you ever seen a small child walking on the road, holding
his father’s hand? The child has no worry at all. He never questions
where he is being taken. When his hand is in the hand of his father,
why should he worry? A sannyasin is like this child; once his hand
is placed in the hand of existence, there are no more problems.
Whatever it wants him to do, he will do. He is ready for everything,
he accepts everything totally.

He behaves like the swan.

There are two qualities of a hansa, a swan. It will be good to

understand them because they are also qualities of a sannyasin.
First, I spoke to you of the mythical ability of the swan to separate
milk from water. This may not be based on scientific fact, but
nevertheless it is a metaphor for the swan's ability to separate the
essential from the nonessential. The awakened, discriminating
intelligence of the sannyasin separates, as if with a sword, the
essential from the nonessential.
Second, the mythical swan is said to eat only pearls, nothing
else. It may die, but it will only eat pearls. In this same way the
sannyasin chooses only the divine, never the material. In any
circumstance he chooses the pearls, not the stones. He will be
ready to die rather than accept stones. His choice is for the highest.
His choice is only for the good, the beautiful, the true. These
qualities of the swan are the behavior of a sannyasin.

His only teaching:

the soul residing within every living being is the true swan.

The soul that resides within every being is the swan. Sannyasins
teach about the soul. Through their lives, through their words,
through their behavior, they teach that the paramhansa resides
within every being. In everyone, the same soul resides. In
everyone, the same consciousness flows. In those who know, and
even in those who do not know, the same consciousness flows. In
those who have closed their eyes, in those who have closed their
doors, and in those who see with their eyes wide open, the same
supreme soul resides. It is not that there is something different
residing within different people; the difference is only of being
acquainted with it or not being acquainted with it. The difference
between the awakened one - the one who knows - and those who
are asleep is not a difference in their intrinsic nature, but in
awareness.
One person has diamonds in his pocket but knows nothing about
their existence; the other knows that he has diamonds in his pocket
- the difference between them is not in their intrinsic wealth but in
their awareness of it. One will remain a beggar because he does
not know his wealth, the other will be rich because he knows his
wealth - both have the same amount. But what value does wealth
have for one who is not aware of it, who has no idea of its
existence? The treasure is of no value to one who does not know
about it. Of what value are those diamonds to you if you have
thrown them into a corner, taking them to be mere stones? The
difference is in the knowing. It is the understanding that is your
wealth.
This is what the sages teach - in different forms, in different
ways, every day - that whatsoever resides in them also resides in
you. It is the same in everyone. Once trust crystallizes that within
you the same being resides, you may become ready to take the
jump.
Once that remembrance dawns on you, then perhaps you will
set out on the search. Then you may become ready for the journey.
If someone tells you that the treasure is hidden right in your house,
underground, then you may lift the pick in your hand and begin to
dig. You are a lazy man, you remain lying down, sleepy, perhaps if
someone reminds you of your treasure, you may get up. If you dig
for some time, perhaps then you may hear some echo of the
treasure that lies hidden within. And if you go on a little more,
perhaps you may find your treasure. And if you break open those
chests you will become the owner of your own treasure.
This is what the sages teach - their every living breath is the
longing to remind everyone that the paramhansa is hidden within
every living being.
Now we will continue in the search for that treasure. Just search
a little for that great swan - is it within you, or is it not within you?
Notice and understand a few things before you begin.
Last night's experiment went well, but there were two or three
small mistakes. Let us see to it that they do not happen again
tonight. One, those who want to just stand there, those who feel
that they won't be able to jump - although it shouldn't feel that way;
you can jump a little, make some effort - but those who feel they
will only be standing, please do not stand in front of me. Due to
those people, the intensity of the people meditating around them is
also hindered. Those who do not totally participate should move to
the back. Those who feel that no matter what they do they won't be
able to dance should stand at the back.
 In front of me and on both sides of me should be only those who
are ready to jump and do it totally. Their jumping will become
infectious, it will create waves; then perhaps those standing at the
back can also gather some courage. Perhaps they too will get
caught by the infection and join in.
But those people should not be standing in front of me because
that creates a hindrance. If one person is standing, not doing
anything, he spoils it for a circle of at least four or five people
around him. So those who only want to stand, move to the back; it
will be better.
Here, near me, should stand only those who have a total desire
to enter their madness.
The second thing: for thirty minutes you are to not blink your
eyes, and focus them on me - no blinking at all. At the same time,
you are to jump joyously and shout the sound “hoo" for the full thirty
minutes.
Now for two minutes, breathe vigorously so that the energy is
aroused. First breathe vigorously, then we will begin the
experiment.