In the Brhadaranyaka Upanishad,
there is a dialogue between Maitreyi and her
husband, Yāgyavalkya, a
great scholar, and a Vedantin. One
day, he called Maitreyi, the senior
of his two wives, and told her, in effect, “I am leaving for the forest to live a life of renunciation, sannyasa. I have lived this married
life, grhastashrama, very well, and now, I would like to take to a
life of sannyasa.” From this we understand that the shruti, the Upanisad, tells us that a life style of
renunciation, sannyasashrama, is
conducive for gaining clarity,
nishtha, in this knowledge. It also tells us that everyone is supposed to be a sannyasi in the end. A
story in the Upanishad, in
the Veda, is not a historical
account. It is meant to convey
something. What is conveyed here is that living a married
life, as a grhastashrami, you can
study Vedanta and gain knowledge of
the self. Yāgyavalkya has
proved this in his own life. Married, with two wives, he was able to
gain this knowledge, and even teach
it to kings. That has already been
shown in this Upanisad. Now he wants
to gain a certain nishtha in this
knowledge. Gaining nishtha means making the knowledge much more real, in order to enjoy the
fruits of that knowledge. And for that, one has to live a
contemplative life. That is what is pointed out here. If one doesn’t
have nishtha, then one has to live a contemplative life, and, therefore, a
contemplative life is advised by the shastra. To illustrate this, there is this story in the Brhadaranyaka Upanishad. Here, Yāgyavalkya tells Maitreyi,
“I have divided all my property
into two and I am giving half to each of you.
I am leaving for the forest,
to live the life of a mendicant, a sadhu.” Their property was real estate, a lot of cattle, and perhaps some
gold, and so on. Cattle were the wealth in those days. When he had said this, Maitreyi didn’t
say, “Okay.” She said, rather, “You
are giving me all this cattle, this wealth. If
I had all the wealth in the world, would I gain immortality by this wealth?
Will I gain what you hope to gain?”
When she asked this question, Yāgyavalkya told the truth. “By wealth there is no hope of
immortality, “ vittena na asha asti. By wealth you are
not going to gain what has to be gained in terms of cognition. Then, he
continues to talk to her. That is the
basis of verses 24 and 25 in the Vakyavrtti.
Yāgyavalkya tells Maitreyi
that an object
becomes very dear, not for the sake of the object. The love that you have for an object is
not for the sake of the object; it
is for yourself, atma, alone. An
object becomes an object of love
because it is connected to oneself. If
it is an object of love, it is very clear
that the object gives you a certain sense of security or joy, a certain happiness. Therefore, the love for the object is not for the object’s sake;
it is for your own sake. Here, ‘your own sake’ means the pleased
self’s sake; the secure self’s
sake. So, love is, finally speaking,
for the secure self, the pleased
self. Since one doesn’t know that one
is secure, that one is innately pleased, one needs something
else to evoke the pleased
self, the secure self.
This is what we call samsara—the dependence upon another person, another situation,
for your own sense of wellbeing. That dependence is samsara. The thing that
you depend upon is also insecure; it is also time-bound. Your body itself is
time-bound. And, therefore, it gives
only the semblance of happiness, a little spring in the desert of absence of happiness. That occasion
to see the pleased self is definitely very desirable. The sukha, a certain joy that
you discover in samsara, is all you
can get. But then, that is not born of the object; it is born only of
yourself, the pleased self. Therefore, Yāgyavalkya tells Maitreyi,
specifically, that the husband becomes
very beloved to the wife, not
for the husband sake, but for the wife’s, for herself alone. And it is true
the other way around also. The
person, husband or wife, is important
because he or she makes the other person happy. If he or she makes the
person’s life miserable, you find that the joy is gone. This is how we get the situation
where, “I love you” for some time.
We start with “I love
you,” then after some time it becomes, effectively, “I allow you” which may be articulated as, “I think we need some
space.” This is only because the person no longer evokes the pleased person
in you. On the contrary, he or she evokes the displeased person. This may be due to some psychological transference about which the person has no understanding. Whatever the cause, what you love becomes perceived as a source
of unhappiness. This is
a very unfortunate thing.
The fact is everything becomes
beloved only for the sake of the self, atmanas tu kamaya sarvam priyam
bhavati. Yāgyavalkya discusses this
in detail giving Maitreyi a very big list. One
loves one’s child, one's house, one’s
wealth, etc., not for the sake of the child or the wealth or the house—it
is for one’s own sake. This is a very important thing to understand. Even an altruistic action like community service is not so much for the sake of the community as it is for
one’s own sake. Whether the happiness is because of some recognition
or some improved self-image or some
genuine empathy with the people you serve, you are the one who sees yourself happy through that action. You do that service so that you can see yourself happy. It is not for the community’s sake; it is for one’s own sake, even though it does reveal a certain expansion on the part of the person that is
a mark of growth. Instead of just
confining one’s own world to a simple nuclear
family, the person’s heart is able to extend to cover the community. This shows that the person has achieved a
certain level of maturity. Still, in the happiness of the community, the person feels that he or she
will be happy, and therefore, again, everything becomes
beloved only for the sake of
the self, atmanas tu kamaya sarvam priyam bhavati. For great social workers, inspired people, their self is
identified with the community. It can expand to the entire humanity, or even to
the entire universe. You can extend it to all the devatas, all the living beings here, even the minerals, and so on. You
can expand your heart to accommodate everything that is here. That means that you care for everything. You don’t even divide things into inert and sentient. You extend your care not only to all people,
not only to all living beings, like
trees, flora and fauna, etc., but even to minerals, to all that is here. You don’t abuse anything because you care. That is exactly the capacity for expansion of the human heart. This is because you see yourself as a part of the whole, not a totally
isolated person. That expansion is the
growth of the person. But still, it is the same person, the same
self and everything that is beloved
is beloved for the sake of this self. That is established. The care that is extended is all for your own pleasure, for, if
the community, etc. are unhappy,
you are unhappy. Thus, naturally, it comes back
only to your self. Even though, as I
told you, community service indicates a certain degree of maturity,
which is why it is considered desirable, at the same time, when we
analyze it, we find that it is for your own self, finally. And therefore, what is the most beloved is yourself alone.
That is the reason no one wants to die. Everyone wants to live, even just one more day. Nobody wants to die today, unless he is racked with interminable suffering. Even the person who wants to commit
suicide, if asked, “Why do you want
to commit suicide?” will say something like,
“Because I don’t see any possibility of being happy.” That is a particular type of thinking—"I don’t see how I
can be happy. I have lost my money; I have lost my fame; I have lost my name; therefore, I want to commit suicide." The entire future is
viewed as very bleak, as without hope. Once there is no hope, one wants to put an end
to this life. Suppose someone wants to commit suicide because he lost
some money—say two hundred thousand
dollars. Now suppose I tell this
person, “I will arrange for this money. Next week I will give you this money. You need not pay it back” What will happen to his suicide plans? He will just drop them on the spot. What does it mean? The person’s heart is not in dying; it is in living. If he can
live one more day, he wants to live, but he does not want to live so unhappily. He wants to live with a
hope of being happy.
It’s not that people live happily, but they need to have
a hope of being happy. They have to be able to hope that they
will pick up some small bit of happiness
tomorrow. Everybody wants to think that
tomorrow is not going to be as cloudy
as it is today, that there is going to be some bright sun of happiness tomorrow at least. This is what hope is. The human heart doesn’t give
up. Why? Because
the nature of the human being is happiness. Naturally, therefore, it cannot give
up. In spite of all the problems, the human being does pick up a moment of joy now and then. Because of this, one cannot give up hope—unless there is a particular type of
thinking. That is why we have all these emergency telephone numbers. Whenever anybody has this kind of thinking, if they can just call somebody,
talk to somebody, that thought of
giving up can go. Somebody has to express care. Somebody has to say,
“Hey, it’s not that bad. Even this
will pass away.”
“Even this will pass away” is a very good mantra. There is a poem
that expresses this very well. A person was given a ring by his father
as the father lay dying. As he gave the ring to his son, he told him
that whenever he is in trouble he
should look at the ring. The son wore
the ring, but forgot about his
father’s words. Eventually he
suffered a financial setback and lost all
his money. In despair he went to a
nearby bridge to jump into the river and
put and end to his life. Just then, he
was looking at his ring and suddenly remembered his father’s words. “Whenever you are in trouble, look at the ring.” Knowing he was in trouble, he took off the
ring and looked at it very closely. Inside
the ring, which had never looked at, these
words were inscribed: “Even this will pass away.” He remembered that there was a time when he didn’t have money. Those days passed away. Then he made money. Those days also passed away and now he had no money. Well,
these days will also pass away. He
walked off the bridge repeating,
“Even this will pass. Even this will
pass.” He came back. Why? Because
he wants to live.
Everybody wants to live—that is the love for the self, atma.
Do you know why? Because atma is eternal. At this
moment, it is here. It is existent. I am
a being and I cannot visualize this being, me, being totally decimated. That is the reason all theologies have a
belief in an afterlife. People accept that because of the need to be. This need to be is very big. It is the reason people buy a good burial place, overlooking a waterfront, for example. And
there are people to take advantage of this need, inducing you to buy
the best casket, the best flowers,
playing on your emotional vulnerability on the loss of a loved one. All
this is because we don’t want anybody to disappear. In fact, death is such a difficult thing to deal with because
it leaves a void. That person is no longer
here—he is not going to be seen in the future, all the
way down to ‘eternity’. You are not
going to see that same person in the same
form. That is very disconcerting. All
the way to the 'end' of time you are
not going to see that person in that form again. It’s a void. And a
void we cannot handle. Though that person is gone, the position
of my being a son or daughter or
spouse remains. That doesn’t go away. Even
if he is your ex-husband, still,
you are stuck being an ex-wife. That
position doesn’t go away. Since the position
remains, when the person because
of whom you got
that position is not there, naturally, all the omissions and commissions will rush to your head. As long as the person was there, you could
settle accounts with him or her. Now, that person is not there to settle
accounts with anymore. And therefore, your own omissions and
commissions come to the surface. “Why
did I do this?” “Why did I not do
this?” It is called the affliction that comes after the fact, pashcat tapah,
and it is unavoidable. Why did I not do the right thing? Why did I do the wrong thing?, kim aham sadhu nakaravam kim aham papam akaravam iti.3 This is what really makes a person sad.
That sadness is deep because you cannot do anything about it—you are facing a void. Ultimately, that sadness is because
you cannot accept a void. And a void is
not acceptable because there is no void at all.
There is no such thing as a void, as total nonexistence. Even the absence of a thing,
or its non-existence, abahava, you
are conscious of. That I don’t have a pot in my hand, that I have no horns on my head you are conscious of. When
you appreciate that, the appreciation implies the presence of you, the presence of an existent conscious
being. Therefore, total decimation doesn’t exist at all. Total absence, atyanta-abhava, does not exist. Certain combinations, like a man with horns, also
do not exist. A man exists, a horn exists, but the horn of a man does not
exist. The man is there, and you are appreciative of the man at a given time,
but at the same time, you are also appreciative
of the fact that his horn does not exist. Similarly,
in my hand there is no pot. My hand exists and the pot exists elsewhere, but on my palm, there is no pot. That absence implies presence, the
presence of you, naturally. No human being, self-conscious human
being, can visualize and accept a
future decimation. Therefore, there
is a love to be. That love to be, Yāgyavalkya
says, is because you love yourself. If you don’t love yourself, then why would you love to be? If you hated yourself, you would not love to be. But you do love to be.
The love for son, wealth, etc., is all for the sake of the self. Wealth includes
home, vehicle, etc., including the contents of the home, like your carpet, your Persian carpet. People have a great value for all these things. I remember when I once went to meet a swami who was staying in a particular house in Madras.
The house was facing east and had
two floors, a ground floor and a first floor, or as you say in America, the second floor, where the swami
was staying in one room. And there
was a covered area where myself and another person were waiting to meet the swami. He
was in his room and we were waiting, sitting
on a carpet—a nice carpet, perhaps a Persian carpet. As we were sitting,
one of the employees of the house came and asked us to get up and sit on the chairs.
We sat on the chairs. And he
rolled up the carpet. I thought that
he was taking it to be used for a better purpose,
perhaps. But then, he rolled up the
carpet and kept it there, right in
our presence, in one corner and left. That’s
a very interesting thing to me, so
naturally, I was not going to keep quiet. The
next time he came to where we were
sitting, I asked him, “Why did you do this? Why did you just roll up this carpet and keep it in the corner?”
He said, “Amma
[the lady of the house]
is down in the kitchen
and asked me to please roll up
the carpet and keep it in the corner.”
I asked him, "Why?" "Because, now it’s eleven o’clock in the morning, and the sunlight will come and
fall on it." Remember we were in a covered but open area with no window, so the sun would fall straight on the carpet and the color
of the carpet would fade. Really. She is down in the kitchen. Her heart is where? Her heart is in the
carpet. Not even in the carpet—in the
color of the carpet. This is how people live their lives—you don’t
know where the heart is. It is all over—in all these antiques, in so
many things there is a little bit of
heart. It is everywhere. Or it is empty. Our hearts have gone everywhere,
lost in many things. In things that
we have, and for some people, in
things that they don’t have, in
things that others have. Then, when I come and say, “You are ananda.” it doesn’t make any
sense. "What ananda?" you wonder. Your heart is in this and that so these words don’t make any sense. It is lost everywhere. Please understand
this. This is what people talk about
as attachment, but I won’t say it is
attachment—it is total identification. It is not like something that is
attached to you, but rather, an identification. It is a way of looking
at things. Things are there, but
then, you see a life without them as
a lost life. And therefore, with them
you feel some kind of security. With respect to son or daughter, of
course, this is expected. It is considered legitimate. When the son or daughter is unhappy,
I am unhappy; when she or he is happy, I am happy, putre
nashthe aham nashthah putre pushthe aham pushthah. That is expected.
But then, look at these things—carpets, vases and all these
things we prize. The heart is lost in all of them. All of them, because they are
connected to you become beloved to you, atma-sheshataya priyah bhavanti. They are considered very important and
play a significant role in your
wellbeing, not because they have any intrinsic capacity to give you that kind of wellbeing, but
because you think you need them. Because
of that, because of their connection to you, they become beloved. Therefore, what
do you really love? Not the objects,
but yourself alone. Honestly,
it is yourself. The objects evoke in
you a pleased person.
Perhaps a person whose aesthetic sense is satisfied, or a person to be admired by others for having good taste. Why
should you want anybody to think that
you have good taste? Because you doubt
that you have good taste. That is the
problem. If you have no doubts, then you don’t need others'
certification that you have good taste.
And even if you get it, you have to accept that you have a good taste. Then,
once you have it, you don’t need others’ approval. So, even in the
approval of others, what you love is not others’ approval, but self-approval. You need the approval of others, because in their approval you feel that you are somebody. Otherwise, you feel empty inside.
There is an abysmal emptiness inside.
Naturally, you want to fill it by "being somebody", and for that, you need others’
approval.
Another thing to note here is that every individual is as good as he thinks he is. And what he thinks of himself includes what others think about him. Not only what others think about him, but what he thinks others think about him, because he doesn’t
really know what others think about him. This is each individual's reality.
And, therefore, to be pleased with oneself is not an easy thing. Naturally, whoever evokes the pleased self becomes an object of love.
putra-vittadayo
bhava yasya sheshataya priyah. dRashtha
sarvapriyatamah so’hamityavadharaya VakyavRtti verse 24
putra-vittadayah- son, wealth, etc.; bhavah-
things; yasya sheshataya
– being connected
to one; priyah – [are] beloved; dRashtha –
the seer/subject; sarva-priyatamah- the most beloved of
all; sah aham iti – “I am that”;
avadharaya- ascertain
Things like son, wealth, etc., being connected
to oneself, [are] beloved. The subject is the most beloved of all. Ascertain, “I am that.” VakyavRtti verse 24
Being connected to oneself alone, son, wealth, etc. become objects
of love. Who, then, is the most beloved, priyatamah? It is
yourself alone. Because you love them all for your sake,
you love yourself. Therefore, the
self alone, the seer or subject, dRashtha,
is the most beloved, priyatamah. The subject loves the object because the object makes the person happy. And therefore, the most beloved is
yourself. What kind of self? The pleased
self. That we must note. Therefore, what do you really love? The
pleased self. It is ananda you love, for in the 'pleased' of the pleased self there
is ananda. It is the ananda that you love. The self is there even when you are unhappy, but unhappiness is not what you love. Happiness centered on yourself is what you love, and that happiness is
yourself alone. That is what you love, because it is your nature. The self, the pleased self is the most beloved of all, dRashtha sarvapriyatamah. That
pleased self is indeed myself; this is the conclusion so’ham ityavadharaya. May you understand, "I am that alone".
parapremaspadataya ma nabhuvam aham sada bhūyasam iti yo dRashtha so’ham ityavadharaya VakyavRtti verse 25
parapremaspadataya – being the abode of the
greatest love; ma na abhuvam- “May I not cease to be”;
aham sada bhūyasam iti – “May I always be.” yah – the one who; dRashtha – the seer/subject; sah aham
iti - “I am that”; avadharaya- ascertain
The subject, being the abode of the greatest love, one [wishes] “May
I not cease to be. May I always
be.” Ascertain, “I am that.” VakyavRtti verse 25
“May I not cease to be,” ma na
abhuvam. Nobody wants to cease to be. One always wants to be. Even the love to have children is a love for eternity. When you want to live
through them, when you want to leave
something behind, that is a love for eternity.
In some form or the other you
want to be. Really speaking, the wish
is, "I want to be there forever", sada bhūyasam. This only shows that you love yourself.
The self, atma is the object
of your love; you want the self to be. Why? Because
it is ananda.
That is also the reason you love sleep. There
is ananda in sleep.
There is not only absence of suffering, duhkha, there is ananda also. When there is total absence
of duhkha, there is no individuality, which is why sleep is such a wonderful area of ananda. That is the reason you are very, very conscious about creating the optimum conditions for your sleep. You want to make sure that your sleep is not disturbed, that you get that sleep.
You switch off the phone. You don’t even want it to ring. You make sure the pillow height is proper, that there is not too much light and that
the mosquito curtain is drawn. to
sleep. Because you want to sleep. Sleep is such an important experience. The elaborate preparation that is made to go to sleep indicates
how important it is. Then, what happens
in the morning? You don’t
want to get out immediately. You wake
up, but you don’t get up; you are so
reluctant to get up. All through
one's lifetime, it is the same. As a child your mother had to call you and coax you to get up. Later also, it is the same. Right on the bed a man will rub his hand over his face to see if he has to shave. Just to get another ten minutes of sleep.
What does it mean? We are so
reluctant to come out of it, but so
enthusiastic to get into it. It is
like watching the ballgame when your
team is winning. You don't even want
to get up for dinner. You want a TV
dinner, because you want to keep watching. As with sleep, you are reluctant to come out of it, and
you are so enthusiastic to go into
it. Why? It means the island in between
must be a happy island. It is a happy island.
This happiness, is it because of your knowledge? No. Is it a product of your skills? Is it
from the big house you have or the boat you are going to get? No. Is it coming from the important job you
have, or the business? No. Or
from your children, etc.? No. Then from
what? It is from nothing else.
I won’t say it is from nothing, but from nothing
else. Nothing else means nothing except
what is left out. What is left out? atma,
myself. That is the ananda. What is left out is yourself alone. You are the source of ananda.
In fact, you are ananda. And if you are happy without any of these
things, everything is a plus. If
you are ananda, everything becomes a plus because nothing is going to make you different. You are what you are. Nothing can sully it; nothing can touch. This is the truth about
yourself. Therefore, atma is not only consciousness. It is ananda;
it is limitless.
Consciousness has no height; it has no width. From consciousness, no object
is away; nothing is away. What is the
distance between space and
consciousness? Is there a distance? If there is a distance, that distance
is space. When you think of space, it is consciousness. Space is consciousness, but consciousness is not space. Time is consciousness;
consciousness is not time. And in time
and space is the whole universe, so the whole universe is consciousness, but consciousness is not the universe. And consciousness is like consciousness. It is unlike everything else and everything else depends it. It is
this limitless you experience in deep sleep and also while you are awake, whenever you are happy.
Please understand this one thing. Some people say that between desires, you become happy. Between the fulfillment of one desire and the rise of another desire, you become
happy. But there is no such rule at
all. After fulfilling a desire, you
can also be unhappy. And you need not fulfill any desire to be happy. Look at this. Every human being is
like a teabag. Why, you may ask. Because you know his or her strength, only when he or she in hot
water. You laughed. What desire did you fulfill?
None at all. You didn’t fulfill any desire. Please understand. That
means you need not fulfill a desire to be happy. That means you need not change to be
happy. That means you are happy. Experiential happiness only
reveals your fullness. To whatever
degree happiness is there, to that degree,
your own fullness is revealed.
Therefore, it has nothing to do with the world. It is not
going to be disturbed by the
world.
The perception of the world cannot destroy
happiness. In fact, perception of the
world is an addition to fullness—an addition without any
addition. I consider it a value addition. It
is something like this. Coimbatore became a big textile center like Manchester. How? Originally agriculturists were growing cotton in this area. They would
sell it to some people who would gin it. Then they thought that they could do the ginning
themselves and get the profit from that. This is called value addition. You sell the same cotton, but the
seeds are removed so the value is
greater, and you can also sell the seeds for
cattle feed or cotton seed oil. Then, the ginned cotton is sent to somebody
for spinning. So they thought, "Why don't we also spin the cotton?
Another value addition. The
same cotton you gin and then you spin
it and sell the spun cotton. Then it
goes to the weaving factory. Eventually you add a weaving unit and sell
the woven cloth. It is all value
addition, the cotton remaining the same. Similarly,
you are already ananda. And you have a
mind—a value addition. Having a mind means there is a world also, which you are objectifying. Another
value addition—the same ananda, plus a value
addition. The whole world, jagat, is a value addition—nothing else. There is no addition, it is only a value addition. Therefore, already
you are full and the world makes life colorful. It’s purely a value addition. There is
no real addition. That is why the Upanishad says pūrnamidah pūrnamidam—that
is whole and this whole. Whole plus whole is still whole.
The world, the jagat,
is purely a value
addition. Therefore, the subject-object perception doesn’t in any way stand between your happiness and you, because the whole thing
is you. This is the vision of Veda. It has nothing to do with emptying your
head, as so many people maintain.
“Remove your thoughts; you will be happy.” This is just nonsense—top to bottom—all nonsense. Consciousness, cit, is the nature, svarūpa, of atma, yourself. ananda also is the svarūpa of atma; existence, sat, also is the svarūpa of
atma, of you.
Om Tat Sat
