the object, where is the question of desire? It is very strange—a psychological truth.
We like something and we are bent upon brooding over that thing because of our
liking for that thing. Day and night we contemplate that thing, but we do not want to
become that thing because the moment we become that thing, our liking for it goes.
So we are afraid that our love for it will vanish. How peculiar it is! What a peculiar
trick of the mind it is that we do not want the intimate proximity of the object with
ourselves, though we say that we like it so intensely. With all the force and
vehemence of thought, the mind tries to push the object out of itself, even in
meditation, so that it may maintain a distance. What prevents us from union with the
object is nothing but this peculiar trick of the mind. There is nobody else obstructing
us; it is our own mind that is preventing union. That very mind which is meditating
on the object for the sake of communion is, at the same time, simultaneously,
carrying on what they call a fifth-column activity without our knowing what is
happening, and it will not allow us to achieve this purpose. Our own colleague and
lieutenant is working against us. This is what is happening in meditation. Our
dearest and nearest friend, our secretary himself is against us; that we do not know.
Therefore, the instrument which we are using for the purpose of the achievement of
the success is itself standing against us in a peculiar manner, with a subterfuge, with
an undercurrent of activity which is not visible at the surface.
This peculiar principle of ‘I-ness’ is a subterfuge. It cannot be visualised, because all
visualisation proceeds from this affirmation of the ego. So it always remains as a
background of the visualisation of even this effort of investigation into the nature of
this ego. Who will investigate the ego? The ego itself has to do it. How is it possible
for a policeman to catch himself? That is not possible. We always come a cropper and
get defeated in this effort. Hence, nobody can attain samadhi—this is what it comes
to. We cannot reach that state. Even dhyana is difficult, and what about samadhi? It
is far off. We have to simply die first, before we attain samadhi. Who would like to
die? We do not want to die, because life is the dearest of things. And what do we
mean by ‘life’? The maintenance of this ego—that is called life. The abolition of the
ego is the real death for us.
We can imagine what it is to counterattack the wishes of the ego. Let anyone attack
our ego—we will see what happens. Is it a pleasure, a joy? Will we feel very happy
that the ego is attacked? There can be nothing worse than that. The attack of the ego
is the worst of pains that one can endure. This is what we are trying to do in yoga.
How is it possible? It cannot work because the ego is the citadel of our greatness in
this world; that is the fortress that we have built around ourselves for the values that
we recognise in this world. That is what we ourselves are—and we want to abolish our
own selves. Who can do that, and what can be worse than this very concept itself?
But this is to be done. There is no other alternative. That which is almost impossible
now has to be made possible.
That which is unthinkable has to become practicable. That which will appear as most
horrible to do, that is the thing that we are expected to do now. The sword of
knowledge has to sever the head of even the dearest of things. What is the dearest of
things? Our own self. Who else is dearest? All the things of the world are dear to us
because of our own dearness. We are very beautiful, we are very pleasurable, we are
most wonderful, most valuable and most significant, and everything has to be
subservient to us. That has to go. Oh, what a horror! But this is the thing. We have to
behead ourselves psychologically. That is the real suicide, if we want to call it so in a