No Bigger Lie Than Death

We become free from that which we have known. We also triumph over that which we have known. Our failure and defeat are only because of our ignorance. Defeat is because of darkness; when there is light, defeat is impossible — light itself will bring triumph.

The first thing I would like to tell you about death is that there is no bigger lie than death. And yet, death appears to be true. It not only appears to be true but even seems like the cardinal truth of life — it appears as if the whole of life is surrounded by death. Whether we forget about it, or become oblivious to it, everywhere death remains close to us. Death is even closer to us than our shadow.

We have even structured our lives out of our fear of death. The fear of death has created society, the nation, family and friends. The fear of death has caused us to chase money and has made us ambitious of higher positions. And the biggest surprise is that our gods and our temples have also been raised out of the fear of death. Afraid of death, there are people who pray on their knees. Afraid of death, there are people who pray to God with folded hands raised towards the sky. And nothing is more false than death. That is why whatever system of life we have created, believing death to be true, has become false.

How do we know the falsity of death? How can we know there is no death? Until we know that, our fear of death will not go. Until we know the falsity of death, our lives will also remain false. As long as there is fear of death, there cannot be authentic life. As long as we tremble with the fear of death, we cannot summon the capacity to live our lives. Only those can live for whom the shadow of death has disappeared forever. How can a frightened and trembling mind live? And when death seems to be approaching every second, how is it possible to live? How can we live?

No matter to what extent we may remain oblivious to death, it is never really forgotten. It makes no difference if we put the cemetery outside the town — death still shows its face. Every day someone or other dies; every day death occurs somewhere, and it shakes the very foundation of our lives.

Whenever we see death happening, we become aware of our own death. When we cry over somebody’s death, it is not just for that person’s death alone, but also for the hint we get of our own. Our suffering from pain and sorrow is not only over someone else’s death but also over the apparent possibility of our own. The occurrence of every death is, at the same time, our own death. And so long as we remain surrounded by death, how can we live? Like that, living is impossible. Like that, we cannot know what life is — neither its joy, nor its beauty, nor its benediction. Like that, we cannot reach the temple of God, the supreme truth of life.

The temples which have been created out of the fear of death are not the temples of God. The prayers which have been composed out of the fear of death are not prayers to God either. Only one who is filled with the joy of life reaches the temple of God. God’s kingdom is filled with joy and beauty, and the bells of God’s temple ring only for those who are free from all kinds of fears, for those who have become fearless.

Because we like to live in fear this seems difficult. But this is not possible — only one of the two things can be right. Remember, if life is true then death cannot be true — and if death is true then life will be nothing but a dream, a lie; then life cannot be true. These two things cannot exist simultaneously. But we hold on to both together. There is the feeling that we are alive and there is also the feeling that we are dead.

I have heard about a fakir who lived in a faraway valley. Many people would go to him with questions. Once a man came and asked him to explain something about life and death. The fakir said, “You are welcome to know about life; my doors are open. But if you want to know about death then go somewhere else, because I have never died nor will I ever die. I have no experience of death. If you want to know about death men ask those who have died, ask those who are already dead.” Then the fakir laughed and he said, “But how will you ask those who are already dead? And if you ask me to give you the address of a dead person, I cannot do it. Because ever since I have come to know that I cannot die, I have also come to know that no one dies, that no one has ever died.”

But how can we believe this fakir? Every day we see someone dying; every day death happens. Death is the supreme truth; it makes itself apparent by penetrating the center of our being. You may shut your eyes, but no matter how far away it is from you, it still remains apparent. No matter how much we escape from it, run away from it, it still surrounds us. How can you falsify this truth?

Some people do, of course, try to falsify it. Just because of their fear of death people believe in the immortality of the soul — just out of fear. They don’t know; they simply believe. Every morning, sitting in a temple or a mosque, some people repeat, “No one dies; the soul is immortal.” They are wrong in believing that just by repeating this, the soul will become immortal. They are under the impression that death can be falsified by repeating, “The soul is immortal.” Death never becomes false by such reiterations — only by knowing death can it be falsified.

This is very strange, remember: we always accept the opposite of what we go on repeating. When someone says he is immortal, that the soul is immortal — when he repeats this he is simply indicating that he knows, deep down, he will die, he will have to die. If he knows he will not die then there is no need to go on about immortality; only one who is frightened keeps on repeating it. And you will see that people are more scared of death in those countries, in those societies which talk the most about the immortality of the soul. This country of ours talks untiringly about the immortality of the soul, and yet is there anyone on earth more scared of death than us? There is no one more afraid of death than us! How can we reconcile these two?

Is it ever possible for people who believe in the immortality of the soul to become slaves? They would rather die; they would be ready to die because they know there is no death. Those who know that life is eternal, that the soul is immortal, would be the first to land on the moon! They would be the first to climb Mount Everest! They would be the first to explore the depths of the Pacific Ocean! But no, we are not among those. We neither climb the peak of Everest nor land on the moon nor explore the depths of the Indian Ocean — and we are the people who believe in the immortality of the soul! In fact, we are so scared of death, that out of the fear of it we go on repeating, “The soul is immortal.” And we are under the illusion that perhaps by repeating it, it will become true. Nothing becomes true by repetition.

Death cannot be denied by repeating that death does not exist. Death will have to be known, it will have to be encountered, it will have to be lived. You will have to become acquainted with it. Instead, we keep running away from death.

How can we see it? We close our eyes when we see death. When a funeral passes by on the road, a mother shuts her child behind closed doors and says, “Don’t go out; someone has died.” The cremation ground is put outside the town so it rarely meets your eyes, so that death won’t be there, right in front of you. And if you ever mention death to somebody, he will forbid you to talk about it.

Once I stayed with a sannyasin. Every day he would talk about the immortality of the soul. I asked him, “Do you ever realize that you are coming closer to death?”

He said, “Don’t say such ominous things. It is not good to talk about such things.”

I said, “If, on the one hand, a person says that the soul is immortal, but also he finds it ominous to talk about death, then this fouls up the whole thing. He shouldn’t see any fear, any omen, anything wrong in talking about death — because for him there is no death.”

He said, “Although the soul is immortal, I nevertheless do not wish to talk about death at all. One should not talk about such meaningless and threatening things.” We are all doing the same thing — turning our backs on death and escaping from it.

I have heard: Once a man went mad in a village. It was a hot afternoon and the man was walking along a lonely road all alone. He was walking rather fast, trying not to be scared: it is possible to be scared when someone is already there, but how can anyone be scared when there is no one around? But we do feel scared when there is no one around. In fact, we are afraid of ourselves, and when we are alone the fear is even greater. There is no one we fear more than ourselves. We are less afraid when accompanied by someone and more afraid when left all by ourselves.

That man was alone. He became scared and began running. Everything was still and quiet — it was afternoon; there was no one around. As he began to run faster, he sensed the sound of running feet coming from behind. He grew frightened — maybe someone was following him. Then, afraid, he glanced behind out of the corner of his eye. He saw a long shadow chasing him. It was his own shadow — but seeing that some long shadow was pursuing him, he ran even faster. Then that man could never stop, because the faster he ran, the faster the shadow ran after him. Finally the man went mad. But there are people who even worship madmen.

When people saw him running like that through their villages, they thought he was engaged in some great ascetic practice. Except in the darkness of night, when the shadow would disappear and he would think there was no one behind him, he never stopped. With daybreak he would start running again. Then he didn’t even stop at night — he figured that in spite of the distance he had covered during the day, while he rested at night the shadow had caught up with him and would follow him in the morning once again. So even at night he continued running.

Then he went completely mad; he neither ate nor drank. Thousands of people watched him run and showered flowers upon him, or someone might hand him a piece of bread or some water. People began worshipping him more and more; thousands paid their respects to him. But the | man became more and more crazy, and finally one day, he fell down on the ground and died. The people of the village where he died made his grave under the shade of a tree, and they asked an old fakir of the village what they would inscribe on his gravestone. The fakir wrote one line on it.

In some village, someplace, that grave is still there. It is possible you may pass it by it. Do read the line. The fakir wrote on the gravestone: “Here rests a man who fled from his own shadow all his life, who wasted his whole life escaping from a shadow. And the man did not even know as much as his gravestone does — because the gravestone is in the shade and does not run, hence no shadow is created.”

We also run. We may wonder how a man can run from his shadow, but we too run from shadows. And that which we run away from starts pursuing us itself. The faster we run, the faster it follows because it is our own shadow.

Death is our own shadow. If we keep running away from it we will not be able to stand before it and recognize what it is. If that man had stopped and seen what was behind him, perhaps he would have laughed and said, “What kind of a person am I, running away from a shadow?” No one can ever escape from a shadow; no one can ever win a fight with a shadow. This does not mean, however, that the shadow is stronger than we are and that we can never be victorious; it simply means that there is no shadow, that there is no question of being victorious. You cannot win against that which does not exist. That’s why people keep facing defeat by death — because death is merely a shadow of life.

As life moves forward, its shadow moves along with it too. Death is the shadow that forms behind life, and we never want to look back, to see what it is. We have fallen, exhausted, so many times — after having run this race again and again. It is not that you have come to this shore for the first time, you must have been here before — maybe it was not this shore; then some other shore. It may not have been this body; then some other body — but the race must have been the same. The legs must have been the same; the race must have been the same.

Through many lives we live, carrying the fear of death, and yet we are neither able to recognize it nor to see it. We are so scared and frightened that when death approaches, when its total shadow closes in on us, out of fear we become unconscious. Generally, no one remains conscious at the moment of death. If, even once, one were to remain conscious, the fear of death would disappear forever. If, just once, a man could see what dying is like, what happens in death, then the next time he would have no fear of death because there would be no death. Not that he would be victorious over death — we can achieve victory only over something which exists. Just by knowing death, it disappears. Then nothing remains over which to be victorious.

We have died many times before, but whenever death has occurred we have become unconscious. This is similar to when a physician or a surgeon gives anesthesia before an operation so you won’t feel the pain. We are so very afraid of dying that at the time of death we become unconscious willingly. We become unconscious just a little before dying. We die unconscious, and then we are reborn in a state of unconsciousness. We neither see death, nor do we see birth — and hence we are never able to understand that life is eternal. Birth and death are nothing more than stopping places where we change clothes or horses.

In olden times there were no railroads and people traveled in horse-drawn carriages. They traveled from one village to another, and when the horses grew tired they exchanged them for fresh horses at an inn, and they changed them again at the next village. However, the people changing the horses never felt that what they were doing was like dying and being born again, because when they changed horses they were fully conscious.

Sometimes it used to happen that a horseman would travel after drinking. When he would look around in that state, it would make him wonder how everything had changed, how everything appeared so different. I have heard that once a drunk horseman even said, “Could it be that I am changed too? This doesn’t seem to be the same horse I was riding. Could it be that I have become a different man?”

Birth and death are simply stations where vehicles are changed — where the old vehicles are left behind, where tired horses are abandoned and fresh ones are acquired. But both these acts take place in our state of unconsciousness. And one whose birth and death happens in this unconscious state cannot live a conscious life — he functions in an almost half-conscious state, in an almost half-awakened state of life.

What I wish to say is that it is essential to see death, to understand it, to recognize it. But this is possible only when we die; one can only see it while dying. Then what is the way now? And if one sees death only while dying, then there is no way to understand it — because at the time of death one will be unconscious.

Yes, there is a way now. We can go through an experiment of entering into death of our own free will. And may I say that meditation or samadhi is nothing else but that. The experience of entering death voluntarily is meditation, samadhi. The phenomenon that will automatically occur one day with the dropping of the body — we can willingly make that happen by creating a distance, inside, between the self and the body. And so, by leaving the body from the inside, we can experience the event of death, we can experience the occurrence of death. We can experience death today, this evening — because the occurrence of death simply means that our soul and our body will experience, in that journey, the same distinction between the two of them as when the vehicle is left behind and the traveler moves on ahead.

I have heard that a man went to see a Mohammedan fakir, Sheikh Fareed, and said, “We have heard that when Mansoor’s hands and legs were cut off he felt no pain… which is hard to believe. Even a thorn hurts when it pricks the foot. Won’t it hurt if one’s hands and legs are cut off? It seems that these are all fantastic stories.” The man also said, “We hear that when Jesus was hanged on the cross he did not feel any pain. And he was permitted to say his final prayers. What the bleeding, naked Jesus — hanged on a cross, pierced with thorns, hands stuck with nails — said in the final moments can hardly be believed!”

Jesus said, “Forgive these people, they don’t know what they are doing.” You must have heard this sentence. And the people all over the world who believe in Christ repeat it continuously. The sentence is very simple. Jesus said, “O, Lord, please forgive these people, because they know not what they are doing.” Reading this sentence, people ordinarily understand Jesus is saying that the poor people didn’t know they were killing a good man like him. No, that was not what Jesus meant. What Jesus meant was that “These senseless people do not know that the person they are killing cannot die. Forgive them because they don’t know what they are doing. They are doing something which is impossible — they are committing the act of killing, which is impossible.”

The man said, “It is hard to believe that a person about to be killed could show so much compassion. In fact, he will be filled with anger.”

Fareed gave a hearty laugh and said, “You have raised a good question, but I will answer it later. First, do me a little favor.” He picked up a coconut lying nearby, gave it to him and asked him to break it open, cautioning him not to break the kernel.

But the coconut was unripe, so the man said, “Pardon me, I cannot do this. The coconut is completely raw, and if I break open the shell the kernel will break too.”

Fareed asked him to put that coconut away. Then he gave him another coconut, one which was dry, and asked him to break that one open. “Can you save the kernel of this one?” he asked.

And the man replied, “Yes, the kernel can be saved.”

Fareed said, “I have given you an answer. Did you understand?”

The man replied, “I didn’t understand anything. What relation is there between a coconut and your answer? What relation is there between the coconut and my question?”

Fareed said, “Put this coconut away too. There is no need to break it or anything. I am pointing out to you that there is one raw coconut which still has the kernel and the shell joined together — if you hit the shell, the kernel will also break. Then there is the dry coconut. Now how is the dry coconut different from the raw coconut? There is a slight difference: the kernel of the dry coconut has shrunk inside and become separated from the shell; a distance has occurred between the kernel and the shell. Now you say, even after breaking open the shell, the kernel can be saved. So I have answered your question!”

The man said, “I still don’t get it.” The fakir said, “Go, die and understand — without that you cannot follow what I am saying. But even then you will not be able to follow me because at the time of death you will become unconscious. One day the kernel and the shell will be separated, but at that moment you will become unconscious. If you want to understand, then start learning now how to separate the kernel from the shell — now, while you are alive.”

If the shell, the body, and the kernel, the consciousness, separate at this very instant, death is finished. With the creation of that distance, you come to know that the shell and the kernel are two separate things — that you will continue to survive in spite of the breaking of the shell, that there is no question of you breaking, of you disappearing. In that state, even though death will occur, it cannot penetrate inside you — it will occur outside you. It means only that which you are not will die. That which you are will survive.

This is the very meaning of meditation or samadhi: learning how to separate the shell from the kernel. They can be separated because they are separate. They can be known separately because they are separate. That’s why I call meditation a voluntary entry into death. And the man who enters death willingly, encounters it and comes to know that, “Death is there, and yet I am still here.”

Socrates was about to die. The final moments were approaching; the poison was being ground to kill him. He kept asking, “It is getting late, how long will it take to grind the poison?”

His friends were crying and saying to him, “Are you crazy? We want you to live a little longer. We have bribed the person who is grinding the poison; we have persuaded him to go slowly.”

Socrates went out and said to the man who was grinding the poison, “You are taking too long. It seems you are not very skilled. Are you very new to this? Have you never ground it before? Have you never given poison to a condemned person?”

The man replied, “I have been giving poison my whole life, but I have never seen a crazy man like you before. Why are you in so much of a hurry? I am grinding it slowly so that you may breathe a little more, live a little longer, remain in life a little more. You keep talking like a crazy man, saying it is getting late. Why are you in such a hurry to die?”

Socrates said, “I am in a great hurry because I want to see death. I want to see what death is like. And I also want to see, even when death has happened, whether I survive or not. If I don’t survive, then the whole affair is finished — and if I do survive, then death is finished. In fact, I want to see who will die with death — will death die or will I die? I want to see whether death will survive or whether I will survive. But how can I see this unless I am alive?”

Socrates was given the poison. His friends began to mourn; they were not in their right senses. And what was Socrates doing? He was telling them, “The poison has reached up to my knees. Up to the knees my legs are totally dead — I will not even know if you cut them off. But my friends, let me tell you, even though my legs are dead, I am still alive. This means one thing is certain — I was not my legs. I am still here, I am totally here. Nothing within me has faded yet.” Socrates continued, “Now both my legs are gone; up to my thighs everything is finished. I wouldn’t feel anything if you cut me right up to the thighs. But I am still here! And here are my friends who go on crying!”

Socrates is saying, “Don’t cry. Watch! Here is an opportunity for you: a man is dying and informing you that he is still alive. You may cut off my legs entirely — even then I won’t be dead, even then I will still remain. My hands are also drifting away; my hands will die too. Ah! How many times I identified myself with these hands — the same hands that are leaving now — but I am still here.”

And, like this, Socrates continues talking while dying. He says, “Slowly, everything is becoming peaceful, everything is sinking, but I am still intact. After a while I may not be able to inform you, but don’t let that make you think I am no more. Because, if I am still here, even after losing so much of my body, how then would an end come to me if a little more of the body is lost? I may not be able to inform you — because that is only possible through the body — but still I will remain.” And at the very last moment he says, “Now, perhaps I am telling you the final thing: my tongue is failing. I won’t be able to speak a single word further, but still I am saying, ‘I exist’.” Until the final moment of death he kept saying, “I am still alive.”

In meditation, too, one has to enter slowly within. And gradually, one after another, things begin to drop away. A distance is created with each and every thing, and a moment arrives when it feels as if everything is lying far away at a distance. It will feel as if someone else’s corpse is lying on the shore — and yet you exist. The body is lying there and still you exist — separate, totally distinct and different.

Once we experience seeing death face-to-face while alive, we will never have anything to do with death again. Death will keep on coming, but then it will be just like a stopover — it will be like changing clothes, it will be like when we take new horses and ride in new bodies and set out on a new journey, on new paths, into new worlds. But death will never be able to destroy us. This can only be known by encountering death. We will have to know it; we will have to pass through it.

Because we are so very afraid of death, we are not even able to meditate. Many people come to me and say that they are unable to meditate. How shall I tell them that their real problem is something else? Their real problem is the fear of death… and meditation is a process of death. In a state of total meditation we reach the same point a dead man does. The only difference is that the dead man reaches there in an unconscious state, while we reach consciously. This is the only difference. The dead man has no knowledge of what happened, of how the shell broke open and the kernel survived. The meditative seeker knows that the shell and the kernel have become separate.

The fear of death is the basic reason why people cannot go into meditation — there is no other reason. Those who are afraid of death can never enter into samadhi. Samadhi is a voluntary invitation to death. An invitation is given to death: “Come, I am ready to die. I want to know whether or not I will survive after death. And it is better that I know it consciously, because I won’t be able to know anything if this event occurs in an unconscious state.”

So, the first thing I say to you is that as long as you keep running away from death you will continue to be defeated by it — and the day you stand up and encounter death, that very day death will leave you, but you will remain.

These three days, all my talks will be on the techniques of how you can encounter death. I hope that, these three days, many people will come to know how to die, will be able to die. And if you can die here, on this shore…. And this is an incredible seashore. It was on these very sands that Krishna once walked — the same Krishna who told Arjuna in a certain war, “Don’t be worried; have no fear. Don’t be afraid of killing or of being killed, because I tell you that neither does anyone die nor does anyone kill.” Neither has anyone ever died, nor can anyone ever die and that which dies, that which can die, is already dead. And that which does not die and cannot be killed — there is no way of its dying. And that is life itself.

Tonight, we have unexpectedly gathered on this seashore where that very Krishna once walked. These sands have seen Krishna walk. People must have believed that Krishna really died — since we know death as the only truth; for us everyone dies. This sea, these sands, have never felt that Krishna died; this sky, these stars and the moon have never believed in Krishna’s death.

In fact, nowhere is there any room for death in life, but we have all believed that Krishna died. We believe so because we are always haunted by the thought of our own death. Why are we so preoccupied with the thought of our death? We are alive right now, then why are we so afraid of death? Why are we so very afraid of dying? Actually, behind this fear, there is a secret which we must understand.

There is a certain mathematics behind it, and this mathematics is very interesting. We have never seen ourselves dying. We have seen others dying, and that reinforces the idea that we will have to die too. For example, a raindrop lives in the ocean with thousands of other drops, and one day the sun’s rays fall on it and it turns into vapor, it disappears. The other drops think it is dead, and they are right — because they had seen the drop just a little while ago, and now it is gone. But the drop still exists in the clouds. Yet how are the other drops to know this until they themselves become the cloud? By now that drop must have fallen into the sea and become a drop again. But how can the other drops know this until they themselves set out on that journey?

When we see somebody dying around us, we think the person is no more, that yet another man has died. We don’t realize that the man has simply evaporated, that he has entered the subtle, and then set out on a new journey — that he is a drop which has evaporated, only to become a drop once again. How are we to see this? All we feel is that one more person is lost, that one more person is dead. Thus, somebody dies every day; every day some drop is lost. And it slowly becomes a certainty for us that we too will have to die, that, “I too will die.” Then a fear takes hold: “I will die.” This fear grips us because we are looking at others. We live watching others, and that is our problem.

Last night I was telling some friends a story. Once a Jewish fakir became very upset by his troubles — who doesn’t get upset? We are all bothered by our woes, and our greatest bother is seeing others happy. Seeing that others are happy, we continue becoming unhappy. There is more mathematics behind this, the same kind of mathematics I spoke about in reference to death. We see our misery and we see the faces of others. We don’t see the misery in others; we see their smiling eyes, the smiles on their lips. If we look at ourselves, we will see, in spite of being troubled inside, we go on smiling outwardly. In fact, a smile is a way to hide the misery.

No one wants to show he is unhappy. If he cannot really be happy then at least he wants to show that he has become happy, because to show oneself as unhappy is a matter of great humiliation, loss and defeat. That’s why we keep a smiling face outwardly, and inside, we remain as we are. On the inside, tears keep collecting; on the outside, we practice our smiles. Then, when someone looks at us from the outside, he finds us smiling; however, when that person looks within himself he finds misery there. And that becomes a problem for him. He thinks the whole world is happy, that he alone is unhappy.

The same thing happened with this fakir. One night, in his prayers to God, he said, “I am not asking you not to give me unhappiness because if I deserve unhappiness then I should certainly get it — but at least I can pray to you not to give me so much suffering. I see people laughing in the world, and I am the only one crying. Everyone seems to be happy; I am the only one who is unhappy. Everyone appears cheerful; I am the only one who is sad, lost in darkness. After all, what wrong have I done to you? Please do me a favor — give me some other person’s unhappiness in exchange for mine. Change my unhappiness for that of anyone else you like, and I will accept it.”

That night, while he slept, he had a strange dream. He saw a huge mansion which had millions of hanging pegs. Millions of people were coming in and every one was carrying a bundle of unhappiness on his back. Seeing so many bundles of unhappiness, he got very scared, he grew puzzled. The bundles brought by other people were very similar to his own. The size and shape of everyone’s bundle was exactly the same. He became very confused. He had always seen his neighbor smiling — and every morning when the fakir asked him how things were, he would say, “Everything is just fine” — and this same man was now carrying the same amount of unhappiness.

He saw politicians and their followers, gurus and their disciples — everyone coming with the same size load. The wise and the ignorant, the rich and the poor, the healthy and the sick — the load in everyone’s bundle was the same. The fakir as dumbfounded. He was seeing the bundles for the first time; up to now he had only seen people’s faces.

Suddenly a loud voice filled the room: “Hang up your bundles!” Everyone, including the fakir, did as commanded. Everyone hurried to get rid of his troubles; no one wanted to carry his miseries even a second longer and if we were to find such opportunity, we would also hang them up right away.

And then another voice sounded, saying: “Now, each of you should pick up whichever bundle he pleases.” We might suspect that the fakir quickly picked up someone else’s bundle. No, he did not make such a mistake. In panic, he ran to pick up his own bundle before anyone else could reach it — otherwise, it could have become a problem for him, because all the bundles looked the same. He thought it was better to have his own bundle — at least the miseries in it were familiar. Who knows what kinds of miseries were contained in the other peoples’ bundles? Familiar misery is still a lesser kind of misery — it is a known misery, a recognizable misery.

So, in a state of panic, he ran and retrieved his own bundle before anyone else could lay his hands on it. When he looked around, however, he found that everyone else had also run and picked up their own bundles; no one had selected a bundle that was not his own. He asked, “Why are you in such a hurry to collect your own bundles?”

“We became frightened. Up to now we’d believed that everyone else was happy, that only we were miserable,” they replied.

In that mansion, whomsoever the fakir asked, the reply was that they’d always believed everyone else was happy. “We even believed that you were happy too. You also walked down the street with a smile on your face. We never imagined that you carried a bundle of miseries inside you too,” they said.

With curiosity, the fakir asked, “Why did you collect your own bundle? Why didn’t you exchange it for another?”

They said, “Today, each of us had prayed to God, saying we wanted to exchange our bundles of misery. But when we saw that everyone’s miseries were just the same, we became scared; we had never imagined such a thing. So we figured it was better to pick up our own bundle. It is familiar and known. Why fall into new miseries? By and by, we get used to the old miseries too.”

That night, nobody picked up a bundle that belonged to someone else. The fakir woke up, thanked merciful God for letting him have his own miseries back. And decided never to make such a prayer again.

In fact, the arithmetic behind it is the same. When we look at other people’s faces and at our own reality — that is where we commit a great error. And with regard to our perception of life and death the same kind of wrong arithmetic is at work. You have seen other people die, but you have never seen yourself dying. We see other people’s deaths, but we never come to know if anything within these people survives. Since we become unconscious at the time, death remains a stranger to us. Hence it is important we enter death voluntarily. If a person sees death once he becomes free from it, he triumphs over death. In fact, it is meaningless to call him victorious because there is nothing to win — then death becomes false; then death simply doesn’t exist.

If after adding two and two a person writes down five, and the next day he comes to know that two plus two equals four, would he say he’d triumphed over five and made it four? He would say, in fact, that there was no question of triumph — there was no five. Making it five was his error, it was his illusion — his calculation was wrong, the total was four; he understood it as five, that was his mistake. Once you see the mistake, the matter is over. Would that man then say, “How can I get rid of five? Now I see two and two are four, but before, I had added them up as five. How can I be free of five?” The man would not ask for such freedom, because as soon as one finds out that two plus two equal four, the matter is over. There is no five any more. Then what does one have to be free of?

One neither has to be free from death nor does one have to triumph over it. One needs to know death. The very knowing it becomes freedom, the knowing itself becomes the victory. That’s why I stated earlier that knowing is power, that knowing is freedom, that knowing is victory. Knowing death causes it to dissolve; then suddenly, for the first time, we become connected with life.

That’s why I told you that the first thing about meditation is that it is a voluntary entry into death. The second thing I would like to say is that one who enters into death willingly, finds, all of a sudden, entrance into life. Even though he goes in search of death, instead of meeting death he actually finds ultimate life. Even though, for the purpose of his search he enters the mansion of death, he actually ends up in the temple of life. And one who escapes from the mansion of death never reaches the temple of life.

Allow me to point out to you that the walls of the temple of life are engraved with the shadows of death. May I also point out to you that the maps of death are drawn on the walls of the temple of life, and since we run away from death we are also, in effect, running away from the temple of life! Only when we accept death will we be able to accept these walls. If ever we could enter death, we would reach the temple of life. The deity of life dwells within the walls of death; the images of death are engraved all over the temple of life. We have simply been running away at the very sight of them.

If you have ever been to Khajuraho, you must have noticed a strange thing — all around its walls scenes of sex have been sculpted. The images look naked and obscene. If, after seeing them, a man simply runs away, then he will not be able to reach the deity of the temple inside. Inside is the image of God, and outside are engravings, images, of sex, passion, and copulation. They must have been a wonderful people who built the temples of Khajuraho. They depicted a profound fact of life: they have conveyed that sex is there, on the outside wall, and if you are to run away from there, then you will never be able to attain to brahmacharya to celibacy — because brahmacharya is inside. If you are ever able to get beyond these walls, then you will also attain to brahmacharya. Samsara,the mortal world, is displayed on the walls, and running away from it will never bring you to God, because the one who is sitting inside the walls of samsara is God himself.

I am telling you exactly the same thing. Somewhere, someplace, we should build a temple whose walls have death displayed on it and the deity of life would be sitting inside. This is how the truth is. However, since we keep escaping from death, we miss the divinity of life as well.

I say both things simultaneously: meditation is entering voluntarily into death, and the one who enters death voluntarily attains to life. That means: one who encounters death ultimately finds that death has disappeared and he is in life’s embrace. This looks quite contrary — you go in search of death and come across life — but it is not.

For example, I am wearing clothes. Now if you come in search of me, first you will come across my clothes — although I am not the clothes. And if you become frightened of my clothes and run away, then you will never be able to know me. However, if you come closer and closer to me, without being frightened of my clothes, then beneath my clothes you will find my body. But the body too, in a deeper sense, is a garment, and if you were to run away from my body, then you would not find the one who is seated inside me. If you were not to become frightened of the body and continued your journey inside, knowing that the body is a garment too, then you would certainly come across that one who sits inside, that one everyone is desirous of meeting.

How interesting it is that the wall is made of the body and the divine is seated graciously inside. The wall is made of matter and inside is the divine, the consciousness seated in glory. These are contrary things indeed — the wall of matter and the divinity of life. If you understand rightly, the wall is made of death and the divine is made of life.

When an artist paints a picture he provides a dark background to bring out the white color. The white lines become clearly visible against the dark background. If one were to get scared of the black, he wouldn’t be able to reach the white. But he doesn’t know that it is the black that brings out the white.

Similarly, there are thorns around the blooming roses. If one becomes frightened of the thorns he won’t be able to reach the roses; if he goes on escaping from the thorns he will be deprived of the flowers too. But one who accepts the thorns and approaches them without fear finds to his amazement that the thorns are simply meant to protect the flower; they merely serve the purpose of being the outer wall for the flower — the wall of protection. The flower is blooming in the middle of the thorns; the thorns are not the flower’s enemy. The flowers are part of the thorns and the thorns are part of the flowers — both have emerged from the same life-giving force of the plant.

What we call life and what we call death — both are part of one greater life. I am breathing. A breath comes out; a breath goes in. The same breath that comes out goes back in after a while, and the breath that goes in comes out after a while. Breathing in is life, breathing out is death. But both are steps of one greater life — life and death, walking side by side. Birth is one step, death is another step. But if we could see, if we could penetrate inside, then we would attain the vision of the greater life.

These three days we shall do the meditation of entering into death. And I shall speak to you on many of its dimensions. Tonight we shall do the first day’s meditation. Let me explain a few things about it to you.

You must have understood my point of view by now: we have to reach a point within, deep inside, where there is no possibility of dying. We have to drop the whole outer circumference, as happens in death. In death the body drops, feelings drop, thoughts drop, friendship drops, enmity drops — everything drops. The entire external world departs — only we remain, only the self remains, only the consciousness remains aloof.

In meditation too, we have to drop everything and die leaving only the observer, the witness within. And this death will happen. Throughout these three days of meditation, if you will show the courage of dying and drop yourself a phenomenon can occur which is called samadhi.

Samadhi, remember, is a wonderful word. The state of total meditation is called samadhi and a grave built after a person’s death is also called a samadhi. Have you ever thought about this? — both are called samadhi. In fact, both have a common secret, a common meeting point.

Actually, for a person who attains to the state of samadhi, his body remains just like a grave — nothing else. Then he comes to realize that there is someone else within; outside there is only darkness.

Following a person’s death we make a grave and call it a samadhi. But this samadhi is made by others. If we can make our own samadhi before others make it, then we have created the very phenomenon we are longing for. Others will have the occasion to make our grave for certain, but we may perhaps lose the opportunity of creating our own samadhi. If we can create our own samadhi, then, in that state, only the body will die and there will be no question of our consciousness dying. We have never died, nor can we ever die. No one has ever died, nor can anyone ever die. To know this, however, we will have to descend all the steps of death.

I would like to show you three steps we shall follow. And who knows, that phenomenon might occur on this very seashore and you may have your samadhi — not the samadhi others make, but the one you create of your own will.

There are three steps. The first step is to relax your body. You have to relax your body so much that you begin to feel as if your body is lying far away from you, as if you have nothing to do with it. You have to withdraw the whole energy from your body and take it inside. We have given the energy to our bodies — whatever amount of energy we pour into the body goes into it; whatever amount we withdraw gets pulled inward.

Have you ever noticed something? When you get into a fight with somebody, where does your body get the additional energy from? In that state of anger you can lift a rock so big that you couldn’t even budge it when you were calm. Although it was your body did you ever wonder where the energy came from? You put the energy in — it was needed, you were in trouble; there was danger, the enemy was facing you. You knew your life could be in danger unless you picked up the rock, and you put all your energy into the body.

Once it happened: a man was paralyzed for two years and was bedridden. He could not get up; he could not move. The physicians gave up, declaring the paralysis would remain with him for the rest of his life. Then one night his house caught fire and everyone ran out. After coming out, they realized the head of their family was trapped inside he could not even run; what would happen to him? Some people had brought torches with them, and they found that the old man was already out. They asked him if he had walked out of the house. The man said, “How could I have walked? How did it happen?” But he certainly had walked; there was no question.

The house was on fire; everybody was leaving it and for a moment he forgot his paralysis; he put his entire energy back into the body. But when people saw him in the torchlight and asked how he had managed to come out, he exclaimed, “Oh, I am paralyzed!” and fell down. He lost the energy. Now it is beyond him to comprehend how this phenomenon occurred. Now everyone started explaining to him that he was not really paralyzed, that if he could walk that much he could walk the rest of his life. The man kept saying, “I could not lift my hand; I could not even lift my foot — then how did it happen?” He couldn’t say; he did not even know who had brought him out.

No one had brought him out; he had come out on his own. He did not know, however, that in the face of danger his soul had poured all his energy into his body. And then, because of his feeling of being paralyzed, the soul drew its energy inside again and the man became paralyzed once more.

Such an incident has occurred not with one or two people, on this earth hundreds of instances have happened where a man stricken with paralysis has come out of his condition, where he has forgotten his condition in the event of a fire or in the face of another dangerous situation.

What I am saying is that we have put energy into our body, but we have no idea how to withdraw it. At night we feel rested because the energy is drawn inside and the body lies in a relaxed state, and in the morning we are fresh again. But some people are not even able to draw their energy inwards at night. The energy still remains locked in the body and then it becomes difficult for them to sleep. Insomnia is an indication that the energy put into the body earlier cannot find the way to return to its source. In the first stage of this meditation the entire energy has to be withdrawn from the body.

Now, the interesting thing is that just by feeling it the energy returns. If, for a while, someone can feel that his energy is withdrawing inside and his body is relaxing, he will find that his body is continuing to relax and relax. The body will reach to a point where the person will not be able to lift his hand even if he wants to — everything will be relaxed. Thus, through feeling it, we can withdraw our energy from the body.

So the first thing is the returning of the vital energy, the prana, back to its source. That will make the body lie still — just like a shell — and it will be observed throughout that a distance has been created between the shell and the kernel within the coconut — that we have become separate and the body is lying outside us, just like a shell, just like cast-off clothes.

Then the next thing is to relax your breath. Deep inside the breath contains the vital energy, the prana, and that’s why a man dies when the breath discontinues. Deep down, the breath keeps us connected to the body. Breath is the bridge between the soul and the body; that’s where the link is. Hence, we call breath prana. As soon as the breathing stops, the prana leaves. Several techniques are applied in this respect.

What happens when a person relaxes his breath completely, allows it to be still and quiet? Slowly, the breath comes to a point where a man doesn’t know whether he is breathing inside or not. He often begins to wonder whether he is alive or dead, whether the breath is happening or not. The breathing becomes so quiet one doesn’t know if it is moving at all.

You don’t have to control breathing. If you try to do so, the breath will never be controlled — it will try to force itself out, and if you control it from outside, it will try to force itself in. Hence, I say, you don’t have to do anything from your side, just let it be more and more relaxed — more and more quiet. Slowly, at one point, the breath comes to rest. Even if it comes to rest just for a moment, then in that moment one can see an infinite distance between the soul and the body — in that very moment the distance is seen. It’s as if lightning were to strike right now and I were to see all your faces in one moment. Afterwards, the lightning might no longer be there, yet I have seen your faces.

When the breath pauses for a moment, exactly right in the middle, then in that moment a lightning strikes within one’s entire being and it becomes apparent that the body is separate and that you are separate — then death has happened. So in the second stage you have to relax your breath.

In the third stage the mind is to be relaxed. Even if the breath is relaxed but the mind is not, the lightning will of course strike, but you won’t be able to know what happened because the mind will remain occupied with its thoughts. If lightning should strike right now and I were to remain lost in my thoughts, I would only come to know of it after it had happened. In the meantime, however, the lightning has occurred and I have been lost in my thoughts. The lightning will strike, of course, as soon as the breath pauses, but it will only be noticed if thoughts have ceased; otherwise it won’t be noticed and the opportunity will be lost. Hence, the third thing is to relax the mind.

We shall go through these three stages and then, in the fourth stage, we shall sit silently. If you wish, you may either lie down or sit. It will be easier lying down — this is such a beautiful beach; it can be put to good use. Everyone should make a space around himself and lie down. It is all right if someone wants to sit, but the person should not control himself if his body begins to fall — because the body may fall once it becomes completely relaxed, and then your controlling it will not allow the body to be totally relaxed.

So we shall follow these three stages and then in the fourth stage we shall remain in silence for ten minutes. These three days, during that silence, there will be an effort on your part to see death, to let it descend. I will give suggestions for you to feel that the body is relaxing, that the breath is relaxing, that the mind is relaxing — then I will remain quiet, the lights will be turned off, and, lying down quietly, you will remain for ten minutes. You will remain still, in silence, watching whatsoever is going on inside.

Make enough space around you so that in case the body drops, it won’t fall on anyone. Those who wish to lie down should make a space around themselves. It would be better if you were to lie down on the sand quietly. Nobody should talk… no one should leave in the middle.

Yes, be seated. Be seated wherever you are or lie down. Close your eyes… close your eyes and relax your body. Let it be loose. Then as I give suggestions, begin to feel with me. As you keep feeling, your body will become more and more relaxed — then the body will be Lying down, totally relaxed, as if there is no life in it.

Begin to feel. The body is relaxing… keep relaxing it…. Keep relaxing your body and feel that it is relaxing. The body is relaxing… feel it… relax every part of your body. And feel inside… the body is relaxing. Your energy is returning inside… the energy from your body is withdrawing, turning in… the energy is withdrawing. The body is relaxing… the body is relaxing… the body is relaxing… the body is relaxing. Let go completely, as if you are not alive anymore. Let the body drop as it is… let it be totally loose. The body has become relaxed… the body has become relaxed… the body has become relaxed. Let go… let go.

The body has become relaxed. The body has become totally relaxed, as if there is no life in it. The entire energy of the body has reached inside. The body has become relaxed… the body has become relaxed… the body has become relaxed… the body has become relaxed… the body has become relaxed. Let go, let go completely, as if the body is no longer there.

We have moved within. The body has become relaxed… the body has become relaxed… the body has become relaxed. The breath is quieting down… relax your breathing also… relax it completely. Let it come and go on its own… let it be loose. No need to stop it or slow it down; just let it be relaxed. Let the breath come in as much as it can… let it come out as much as it can. The breathing is becoming relaxed… the breathing is becoming calm….

Feel it like this: the breathing is becoming calm… the breathing is becoming calm and relaxed… the breathing is relaxing… the breath is calming down. The breath has calmed down… the breath has calmed down… the breath has calmed down. Now let the mind be relaxed and feel that thoughts are calming down… thoughts are calming down… the mind has calmed… the mind has calmed….