We must come to know the mystery of our birth. Only he who knows it truly understands it; he cannot quite convey it to another. By what path is such knowledge attained? Suppose this knowledge lies hidden in some forbidding forest wilderness. We must venture there to retrieve it. To reach that place, one must endure great hardship and travel on foot through perilous terrain. Yet not everyone can walk such a path. Those accustomed to journeying there, if they show mercy, may offer us some guidance; in other words, we must seek shelter with a guru whose experience is tested and true. We must receive such instruction in accordance with our own capacity to hold and understand it.
The instructions for the path that pierces to the heart of this profound mystery are always novel and incredible. Therefore, they are generally incomprehensible to anyone. Why incomprehensible? Because the one who might receive them lacks the capacity, desire, and readiness to accept them. Then what is the way? There is only one way—remembrance of the divine. And following remembrance of the divine comes surrender to the divine.
With the word 'birth' comes necessarily 'body.' And therein enters the egoistic 'I' who glories in position and existence—and yet behind this there dwells the selfless 'soul' of whom we speak. The body we naturally know as the 'temple of experience'; it is also the 'temple of union.' In outward inclination lies experience, in inward seeking lies union. And whose seeking is this? My own—that is, the soul's. Only the soul possesses authentic being. This body is the gateway to the realization of that soul—and therefore the gateway to the realization of Brahman, for the soul is Brahman. The beginning of Brahman-practice always starts from the body.
By the influence of some inexplicable power, our primary pure consciousness lies veiled. Just as waking consciousness is obscured in sleep, so too our primary consciousness remains veiled in our waking state—not only in waking, but in all three states we know: waking, dream, and deep sleep—it remains similarly obscured. If it were merely veiled, perhaps the veil might one day be lifted. But here, alongside this veiling power, there operates another force, which we may call the scattering power.
From scattering comes all outward inclination—movement away from the inner. Because of this scattering power, the reflection of our consciousness moves along the wrong path. Even as the scattering power holds sway, the veiling power persists. Through the influence of the veiling power comes 'non-apprehension' of truth, and through the scattering power comes 'false apprehension'—"I cannot know it." This sense of not-knowing is called 'non-apprehension,' and statements like "It is surely thus!"—such false knowledge is called 'false apprehension.' The example is waking and sleep—where dream itself is contained within waking.
Deep sleep is the state of veiling, where there is only non-apprehension. The primary entity called 'I'—which can never truly be denied or hidden—even that remains unapprehended. In waking, that non-apprehension certainly persists; the answers to what, who, where, and why I truly am remain unknown. Beyond this, I grasp myself through countless designations: I am a human, born on such a date in such a manner, I am intelligent, I am husband, wife, son, daughter, wealthy, householder, conscious being, and so forth. Yet this same 'I' is recognized by different identities in different places; thus false apprehension of the primary entity occurs. Under the false apprehension born of scattering, the influence of the veiling power only deepens.
'Error'—how do I know it is error? That very distracted wakefulness I feel might be right. To such an objection from the materialist or the sensualist one may reply—I know this to be error, because that experience does not bring a serene and lucid state of mind! When we know something previously unknown, joy necessarily follows. Knowledge and joy are inseparable. They are not separate entities. They are the simultaneous presence of a dual aspect of one and the same thing. And another point: ignorance is subject to destruction by knowledge—that is, when knowledge of a subject comes into being, the ignorance relating to it must necessarily be destroyed. Once ignorance is destroyed, it cannot strike again.
When through error I mistook a rope for a serpent, and then that ignorance concerning the serpent was destroyed through knowledge of the rope, afterwards I do not again mistake that piece of rope for a serpent. My waking self does not shield me from such renewed assault unless I consciously destroy ignorance; my eternal questions rise again. Therefore in such a case, inquiry into birth, the soul, or Brahman does not come to cessation.
Bhrigu, one of the Seven Sages, approached his father Varuna and said, "Lord, teach me Brahman." His father replied, "The body, breath, the eye, the ear, the mind, speech—these are the gateways to the realization of Brahman." He further said, "That from which all beings are born, by which they live, into which they finally pass and return—desire to know that. That is Brahman." (Taittiriya Upanishad, 3/1)—According to Rabindranath Tagore's translation: "He from whom all things are born, by whom they are sustained, into whom they return and merge—know him, he is Brahman. Thus the Brahma-knower of the Upanishad declares that Brahman is the ground of all action." (From the essay 'Karma')
Bhrigu, repeating his father's words with concentrated attention, came to understand—"Food is Brahman, thus he knew." (Taittiriya Upanishad, 3/2) The reason was that he matched the clue given by his father and observed that from food all beings are born, after birth they are sustained by food, and in dissolution they move toward food and merge into it. Understanding this, Bhrigu realized that since food has both origin and dissolution, food cannot be Brahman. He returned to his father, and his father understood that Bhrigu was taking food to mean the physical body composed of the five elements, for the body's origin, formation, and dissolution all occur through food. Varuna then said, "With the aid of concentration, seek to know Brahman in its fullness; intense meditation itself is Brahman." Bhrigu then performed rigorous meditation and came to perceive—everywhere there flows a great cosmic life-force. Thus—"Life-force is Brahman, thus he knew." (Taittiriya Upanishad, 3/3) (This may indeed have some correspondence with materialism's notions of Cosmic Force or Cosmic Life.)
Bhrigu, pondering the instruction given by his father, discerned that from life-force all beings are generated. Once generated, they are nurtured by life-force, and finally they move toward life-force and merge into it. The father then saw that his son Bhrigu had conceived of the life-force surrounded by the senses as the animate principle of existence. He had not understood that life-force is insentient, and therefore cannot be Brahman. The father knew that sensation itself cannot be achieved without the utmost striving of one's own being. Let Bhrigu investigate further. Thus he reiterated that same truth—"Through meditation, seek to know Brahman in its fullness; meditation itself is Brahman."
Bhrigu undertook tapas again. This time he came to understand that insentient matter (prana) could not be Brahman. It occurred to him—"Mano brahma iti vijanat" (Taittiriya Upanishad, 3/4)—"Mind is Brahman, he knew." Here too the earlier hint holds firm. From mind, all creatures are born; born, they are sustained by mind; and at dissolution, they return toward mind and dissolve into it. Having understood this, Bhrigu presented himself once more before his father Varuna. His father again instructed him to undertake tapas. Then it dawned on Bhrigu that mind too is insentient. (We mistakenly call the mind conscious because it dwells in the close proximity of the conscious self.) Bhrigu further realized that mind is uncertain in its function—a faculty of the inner organ characterized by determination and counter-determination, the inner sense.
Swami Paramananda writes: "...The sages have defined mind. Wherever the function of 'determination and counter-determination' takes place—that is 'mind.' In mind, the powers of determination and counter-determination are perpetually at work. 'I shall do this' or 'No, I shall not,' 'I shall go' or 'I shall not go,' 'I shall see' or 'I shall not see'—countless such determinations arise, and simultaneously their counter-determinations are created within that realm of mind. Now, whether you shall perform that action or not—it is the intellect faculty of your consciousness that 'resolves.' The sages said that intellect is characterized by 'the function of certainty.' The intellect is stationed in a sixth dimension. When the ground—consciousness—becomes still, the very faculties rooted in it will naturally become still! Therefore, instead of striving to steady the mind or intellect, the right practice is truly to steady consciousness itself. This is why, in yogic discipline, the state of 'consciousness made still' is spoken of as the goal to be attained."
Though exceedingly subtle, mind is bodily in nature—that is, subject to momentary transformation, perishable—one among the visible objects of the world. Visible means: that whose effect or transformation can be seen by the eye. This time Bhrigu understood that the intellect characterized by certainty, or special knowledge and wisdom concerning the Divine—this alone is Brahman.—"Vijnanam brahma iti vijanat." (Taittiriya Upanishad, 3/5) Thus, even after reaching the primordial Being possessed of all knowledge, will, and creative power, when the father again instructed him to undertake tapas, Bhrigu perceived through reflection that the intellect too experiences pleasure and pain; yet in the supreme Bliss, there is neither pleasure nor pain. Contemplating thus, Bhrigu—"Anando brahma iti vijanat." (Taittiriya Upanishad, 3/6)—realized: Perfect Bliss alone is Brahman.
From Bliss all creatures are born; born, they are sustained by Bliss; and finally they turn toward Bliss and dissolve into it. This wisdom, initiated by Bhrigu and specially taught and directed by Varuna, has reached its consummation in the supreme Bliss that dwells in the heart-space, beginning from the sheath of food. Whoever knows in this manner becomes established in Brahman, the very form of Bliss; becomes abundant in sustenance and food. He becomes great in the splendor of Brahman and in fame as well. Though such fruits are enumerated from the world's perspective, from the viewpoint of the knower of Brahman there is no gain or loss. Just as a mirage, once known to be false, still appears to the eye, so too the false world may appear to the liberated-while-living (one who has attained liberation even in embodied existence) as a repeated appearance of illusion. Yet he does not become entangled in it. Let us unpack this matter a little further.
Though Brahman himself remains immutable and undisturbed, through his own maya he transforms himself into seer and seen, and thereby creates this world. The world is not a transformation of Brahman, but a seeming transformation—a maya-born appearance or illusion. When milk transforms into curds, the very nature of milk is altered; curds no longer possess the qualities of milk. When through the illusion of the seer, one object appears as another, that object is said to have undergone a seeming transformation. In such seeming transformation, the object itself suffers no actual alteration in its essential nature. The rope mistaken for a serpent, the mirage mistaken for water—these are examples of seeming transformation arising from the defect in perception.
The immutable Brahman, through the power of his maya, has undergone a seeming transformation into this world—a unified manifestation of seer, seen, and seeing. In this transformation, Brahman has suffered no actual alteration whatsoever. Like the illusions wrought by a magician, like the visions of dream, through the maya of God this false world appears as reality in the sat-chit-ananda Brahman. The worship of Brahman's intrinsic nature rests upon ultimate truth, while worship of Brahman through his external characteristics—the marks of his creation—rests upon practical truth. Therefore, the scriptures in many places prescribe the worship of Brahman through his external characteristics, for such worship is more readily attained than worship of his intrinsic nature. In this worship of external characteristics, the formless and inconceivable Brahman is worshipped in his saguna aspect—as creator, as Ishvara, as the indweller, as primordial power, as mother of the world, as Durga, and so forth. In such worship, Brahman's unmanifest and inconceivable nature—the sat-chit-ananda aspect—remains primary in the worshipper's mind, while his creation, his lordship, and other characteristics serve as secondary supports, along with the created world itself. This is the repeated illusion of the limited, the appearance of duality that persists.
The joy that arises in worldly matters through the contact of the senses with their objects—this is far removed from perfect bliss, yet neither is it fragmentary bliss! It is mere semblance of joy. And this semblance of joy is not free from fear. Where fear exists, there is no true joy! I borrow these words from Rabindranath's own vision:
"The day you came like fire and took away all I possessed, That day I became whole—my conflict resolved. Beyond pleasure and pain, in you I have found bliss."
The narrative of Bhrigu is no mere parable. In ancient times, fathers who were seers of truth would impart the knowledge of Brahman to their sons. Yet one must proceed through this narrative by the thread of logic, step by step. True, with some effort, the analogous meaning can be grasped even at the grosser level. Here, the embodied person—constituted of the five sheaths of nourishment, life-force, mind, intellect, and bliss—serves merely as the occasion for inquiry.
The seeker of Brahman must practice austerity as Bhrigu did, for that is the means to attain Brahman. In any case, from this teaching associated with Bhrigu—the Bhargavi wisdom—we learn that through proper investigation of the account of birth and becoming, one can ascend step by step to the principal truth. And we also learn that what we ordinarily take the "I" to mean—this gross entity—is not the final word on the matter, nor is it the true word at all. Yet yes, it can point us toward the right path. In this way, the cultivation of embodied knowledge ultimately becomes the practice of yoga.
We have come to see that, bound as we are within these five sheaths—the sheaths of food, life-force, mind, intellect, and bliss—we mistake each of them for 'mine' and 'I', and err in calling them objects. Among the five sheaths, the fifth, which relates to our body, is not the supreme bliss; rather, supreme bliss lies beyond it—this is how the philosophers have understood it. Brahman, or absolute bliss, does not reside within the sheaths; it resides beyond them. Yet to reach there, one must pass through the sheaths themselves. We possess three bodies—the gross body, the subtle body, and the causal body. The gross body is constituted by the food sheath. Animals, birds, reptiles, insects—all corporeal forms, without distinction, fall within its scope. It came, it remained, it grew—it underwent transformation, it matured, and finally it perished. In other words, it is subject to six kinds of modifications of being. It is worth noting that transformation consists in the transition from a raw or undeveloped state to the five subsequent states, or higher states; just as the nine emotions, transformed by secondary emotions, complementary emotions, and transitory feelings, give rise to the nine aesthetic moods. From desire arises the erotic mood, from laughter the comic mood, from sorrow the pathetic mood, from anger the furious mood, from enthusiasm the heroic mood, from fear the terrible mood, from disgust the odious mood, from wonder the marvellous mood, and from peace the serene mood.
The chief characteristic of Brahman is this: Brahman does not undergo the six modifications mentioned above. The infinite variety we perceive in the manifest universe springs from its root in these six transformations of being—birth, and the rest. The grammarian Yaska, in his commentary, cites the view of the venerable Varshyayani:
"The Blessed Varshyayani said: 'There are six modifications of being.' It is born, it exists, it transforms, it grows, it diminishes, it perishes. These are the modifications of being alone."
The great sage Patanjali too upheld this view in his Mahabhasya.
Now, to rightly comprehend the meaning of these six modifications of being—birth, existence, transformation, growth, decay, and destruction—we must first gain knowledge of the concept of modification itself. To understand the meaning of modification, we need to know separately the meanings of 'being' and 'modification'. According to the commentators, these two words carry different meanings.
1) According to one school, the word 'being' means action, and 'modification' means form or type. 2) According to another school, 'being' means substance, and 'modification' means state. 3) According to a third school, 'being' means word or meaningful utterance, and 'modification' means difference in condition. 4) The final view holds that 'being' means existence or universal essence, whose other name is soul or supreme Brahman, and 'modification' means transition into a different state.
The six modifications of being are—
i) Is born: "The word 'is born' refers to the beginning of the transformation—from inception to completion it encompasses all the aspects of a process's beginning. It neither implies nor denies the subsequent existence or state of being."
ii) Exists: "The word 'exists' determines the persistence of what has been produced."
That is, when one speaks the word 'asti' (being, exists), it conveys this understanding: what has been born exists, it has not been destroyed. The term asti does not entail acceptance of transformation, nor does it preclude it.
iii) In parinama (transformation): "By the term parinama is meant the alteration of that substance which does not depart from its essential nature."
That is, the word 'parinama' (transformation) conveys the state or condition of a substance that does not diverge from its intrinsic nature—a modification or change from its essence. Thus, when we say something has undergone parinama, we must understand that the substance has not departed from its essential nature as existence itself, yet it has undergone modification or change within pure being. The term parinama does not entail acceptance of growth, nor does it preclude it.
iv) In growth (varddhate): "By growth is meant the increase through one's own parts, or the augmentation that occurs in things bound together by composite relations."
That is, the term 'varddhate' (grows) denotes increase through addition of one's own constituent parts, or augmentation in substances characterized by compositional bonds. The word varddhate does not entail acceptance of decay, nor does it preclude it.
v) In decline (apaksheeyate): "By decline, the converse of growth, is meant the diminishment through loss of one's own parts, or the depletion that occurs in composite substances."
Decline, the opposite of growth—that is, the term 'apakshaya' (decay)—means loss through diminishment of one's own constituent parts or wasting away of composite substances. The word apakshaya does not entail acceptance of destruction, nor does it preclude it.
vi) In destruction (vinashyati): "By the term vinashyati (is destroyed) is meant the commencement of an opposite state; it does not denote the preceding state, nor does it negate it."
That is, the word 'vinashyati' (is destroyed) conveys the onset of an opposed condition—a state which, though absent in the evidence yet remains a real possibility. This term neither conveys nor precludes the preceding state of decline.
Through these modifications of state, the diversity and multiplicity of things become possible. Yet transformation itself—this process of becoming that is the nature of change and alteration—is mutable. It does not remain static; it contains many divisions and a temporal sequence, a continuity in that succession. Thus states and actions come into being resting upon temporal succession. Time, which underlies this very sequence that forms the foundation of all becoming and change, is itself a distinct power of the Word-Absolute. Through the agency of this temporal power, the Word-Absolute becomes capable of creating the world's manifold diversity by means of the exuberant manifestation of the six-fold modifications of becoming—birth and the rest.
Though time is indivisible, through the conditioning of limitations, the triple division of past, present, and future is superimposed upon it—and through this imagined differentiation, distinction is imposed upon time itself, which is ultimately projected upon the Word-Absolute. As a result, though the Word-Absolute is non-dual and free from sequence, the imagined divisions of time, when thus superimposed, cause it to appear as manifold and characterized by temporal succession. Thus the world is created.
Now the question may arise: how does the power of time become the governing principle of the six-fold modifications of becoming?
In answer, Bhartrihari says that through time's two principal powers—obstruction (pratibandhá, or hindrance) and permission (abhyanujna, or allowance)—time becomes the governing principle of the six transformations of becoming. Therefore, the master Bhartrihari illustrates this by calling time itself the thread or governing principle of the cosmic mechanism (the regulator of the diverse phenomena of the world)—
"Those bound by time's divided forms—the manifold movements of the cosmos— He permits, as thread permits the bird's flight." (Vākyapadīya, 3/15)
Just as the thread regulates the bird's flight, so too does the power of time—itself possessed of no distinction, yet operating as both restraint and permission—governs all the functions of the world. Though time itself possesses no intrinsic nature, the Word-Brahman that rests upon the power called time—the power by which all things possess their potency—is truly distinct, and therefore the architect of this cosmic manifestation.
Though Word-Brahman is fundamentally non-dual, yet through dependence upon the power of time, it manifests in infinite forms—just as the single Word-Brahman, though the seed and cause of all things, yet abides manifold as enjoyer, as the enjoyed, and as the enjoyment itself. Bhartṛhari's meditation on this truth runs thus:
"One seed of all, whose manifold appearance is this— As enjoyer, enjoyed, and enjoyment too, it stands." (Vākyapadīya, 1/4)
When we speak "I" in the gross body, we inhabit a waking state that—though philosophers tell us it too is but a dream of sorts—lies within sleep's dominion, at sleep's outermost edge. There, gross, subtle, and causal bodies remain fused together, indivisible, intertwined. Thus we cannot easily escape this material form made of food; and through it we must pass. This is why Varuṇa declared: the body itself is the gateway to the realization of Brahman.
Precisely thus constituted is our subtle body—fashioned of vitality, mind, and wisdom—the three sheaths unified into subtle matter. We first glimpse the absence of the gross body when we dream. There, only the subtle body functions. That body then is the luminous body, the body of light—it constructs itself, it perceives itself; it is both material cause and efficient cause; it is itself the seer. This subtle body of ours was not created in this present birth, yet it is comparable to neither the subtle bodies of our previous births.
As our gross body in this life undergoes transformations—childhood, youth, maturity—so too has our subtle body, birth after birth and within each birth, continually undergone the waxing and waning of impressions born of desire. Some understanding diminishes, some increases; in succession it acquires ever new forms. Such is its conduct from birth to birth. Its origin traces back to creation's beginning. Viewed thus, we are "sons of the immortal"—children of the deathless. Rabindranath Tagore renders it:
Hear, O children of the immortal, Dwellers in the celestial abodes! (Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad, 2/5)
I know this mighty Person Radiant as the sun, beyond all darkness. Knowing him alone, one passes beyond death— There is no other path that leads there. (Śvetāśvatara Upaniṣad, 3/8)
In verse: "Hear, O people of the world, Hear, O sons of the immortal, O gods Dwelling in the celestial realms—I know him: The mighty Person who dwells beyond darkness, Radiant with light. Knowing him, I seek his way; Through him, death itself may be crossed—no other path exists."
No one knows the origin of this cycle. Knowledge comes only when all unknowing ceases. There is no benefit in merely being freed from, or abandoning, the gross body alone. There may be no gain; loss may persist. Just as the leech abandons one blade of grass and clings to another, just as the distant traveler changes vehicles according to necessity, so too does the subtle body take hold of another support. This is why the wise and discerning do not regard death as something apart from the transformations of youth and age; they do not grieve.
Dehino'smin yatha dehe kaumaraṃ yauvanam jara | Tatha dehantar-praptir dhiras tatra na muhyati || (Bhagavad Gita, 2/13)
Meaning: Just as childhood, youth, and old age successively manifest in the embodied one's body, so too in the attainment of another body does the embodied soul remain unchanged. Death is merely a transformation of the body. Therefore, those possessed of knowledge do not fall into delusion regarding the transmigration to another body.
After childhood passes, youth arrives—a mere change of state, and no one grieves over it. Similarly, when the soul abandons one body and assumes another, this too is merely a transition in state. Therefore, there is no cause for sorrow here either.
Here, instead of saying "death," it is said—"attainment of another body." Thus it is acknowledged that even in dying, there is rebirth. This is the doctrine of transmigration. The indestructibility of the soul and rebirth are the two principal tenets of Hindu philosophy. Now the question arises: if the soul is indestructible, what is its fate after the body perishes?
The enjoyment of heaven or hell is not the ultimate destiny of the living being. To merge into Brahman, the source from which the soul arose, or to attain God—this alone is the supreme goal and final destiny of the soul. Until the soul becomes worthy of this, it must repeatedly assume bodies and experience the fruits of its deeds according to what it has done. The fruits of karma accumulated from past actions cannot be exhausted except through experience. This perpetual wandering of the soul through cycles of birth and death—this is what is called Samsara (from Sanskrit roots meaning "to wander through"). How this Samsara is exhausted and how the soul attains Brahman-liberation or the grace of God—this is the very subject that all Hindu philosophy and Hindu scriptures expound.
Certainly, Hindu scripture provides for the enjoyment of heaven and such realms according to the deeds of the living being, but not for eternity. When the particular karma that yields heavenly experiences is exhausted, the soul must again take birth. There is no cessation of the birth process until liberation or the attainment of God. This too is declared in the Gita, verse 8/16.
A-brahma-bhuvanal-lokas punar-avartino 'rjuna | Mam upetya tu kauntey punar-janma na vidyate || (Bhagavad Gita, 8/16)
Meaning: O Arjuna, all the seven worlds—from the earthly realm up to the realm of Brahma—are subject to return; that is to say, from all these realms, beings fall back into the cycle of existence. But O Kunti's son, having attained Me, there is no rebirth.
The wise often regard death not with dread but with favor. They speak of it as one speaks of discarding a tattered garment for a new one; as one might break old ornaments to fashion new designs. Therefore, it behooves us to guide this subtle body aright and lighten somewhat the burden it carries. Since the subtle body's existence is known to us through dreams—known through the medium of the gross body—we may rightfully call dreams our teacher, our guru. Dreams teach us that something which seemed true at the moment of perception (the conviction born in the very instant of experience) may in truth be false. Hence it is fitting that we should likewise deem our waking perceptions (our understanding, knowledge, conviction, or belief) to be false, following the very logic dreams present to us. Just as we cannot trust one who has deceived us once with false words, how then can we place faith in our own perceptions?
The subtle body is the matrix of our dreams. Is it not possible that this waking body of ours—this commingling of gross and subtle—is itself but the matrix of yet another species of dream? Even if this be not so, we see plainly that as long as the subtle body endures, the procession of dreams will continue, dream following dream in bodily form. Unless we lighten the burden gradually, the succession of dreams will never cease. Freedom lies only in the shattering of the dream, and in that shattering dwells joy. One cannot be freed while weighted down.
Within this subtle body too resides the sheath of bliss. Whether we employ the body gross-and-subtle mingled together, or the subtle body alone—whether we engage in waking pursuits and activities or lose ourselves in dreams—the sheath of bliss pervades all of it. Yet when the components of the subtle body, those troublesome agents we call the senses and the host of cravings and desires that hold sway over the deluded, grow temporarily dormant and withdraw, then we employ only the sheath of bliss. In such a state, there is only the experience of joy. This is our daily sleep—slumber without dreams. Here we are free of all disturbance, undisturbed, without fear.
After lying dormant for a time, the fruit of our actions stirs and propels us once again into activity, to taste the harvest of what we have sown. Exactly as we had deposited it, so it returns—there is no escape from this law—for the fruit lies hidden within the deed itself. This is why it is called the causal body. The operations of the gross and subtle bodies (the unmanifest, the unbroken whole) remain latent in the causal body alone; in due time and manner, they come forth into manifestation.
Because sleep is free from disturbance, we do not disdain it. And yet, caught in the world of action, we sense it as a kind of annihilation. When we awake, we say, "How peacefully I slept!" (Meaning: I dwelt entirely in the sheath of bliss.) But in the same breath, we add—"I knew nothing of what happened." By this we mean: I did not gain the knowledge I sought. Driven by great delusion, hurried by impulse and time's pressure, we seek through the senses to know what should not rightly be known, and in sleep we failed even at that. This becomes our regret. Yet the true significance hidden in our words is this: that which alone is our supreme duty to know has not been known. What then is the gain from sleep, that ignorance-shrouded state? The substance remains ungrasped—it remains as it was before.
What then do we seek? In what lies acceptance? We seek conscious repose. This is what is called samadhi. Samadhi may be attained through yoga, yet it may also be attained through inquiry; the substance is one and the same. Both depend upon the grace of God. For this reason we must seek a cessation of the waking impulse—a quieting of that urgency to awaken into worldly consciousness. Like clockwork, we remain locked in the ceaseless commerce between object, sense, and desire, forever pursuing what we crave. Thus we must take respite from time to time. This respite is the day of festival. Festival exists for joy, and joy is its prerequisite. Joy itself is God. Therefore, on the day of one's birth, in that God-consciousness, it is fitting to find stillness through remembrance of the Divine, and to celebrate in joy.
An objection may be raised—some things are understood, others are not—we were speaking of the five sheaths and the three forms of body, of the various states such as waking and sleeping, of the stream of birth and death, and so forth. These are good matters. But how does God suddenly appear here? The answer is this: it is the very nature of God to be ever-present—to maintain himself and simultaneously dwell, complete and entire, even in what is utterly opposed to him. This is a wondrous nature. God must surely appear—whether called upon or not called upon, he will come. Whether known or unknown, he has already come. For he does not depart, so there is no coming either. There is no coming and going—"The One alone, ever the same" (Bhaskara Ananda). The intellect, the ego, all kinds of conditioning cast aside, even the sense of 'I' beyond the five sheaths might seem... The One alone, ever the same—very well. Whether I exist or not, he is always. That he does not exist is impossible, so as long as I exist—
ভোক্তারং যজ্ঞতপসাং সর্বলোকমহেশ্বরম্। সুহৃदं সর্वभूतानाং জ্ঞাত्वा मां शान्तिमृচ्छति॥ (Bhagavad Gita, 5/29)
Meaning: As the agent and divinity, I am the enjoyer of sacrifice and austerity, the great lord of all worlds and the beneficent friend of all beings. Knowing me in this way, as one's own Self, the yogi attains peace—liberation.
'Knowing me'—that is, knowing God—one attains peace. If God is attained, peace will follow. God is full of bliss—therefore dwelling in bliss, he will remain in the realm of Brahma, receiving the fruits of divine enjoyment. There will be no rebirth. But if one realizes God as identical with one's own Self, then by peace is meant liberation. Otherwise, if one attains to 'the enjoyer of sacrifice and austerity, the great lord of all worlds, and the beneficent friend of all beings'—the Lord himself, that is, Brahman with attributes—then gradual liberation will be gained. Here, gradual liberation is what is spoken of. According to Madhva's dualism and Ramanuja's qualified non-dualism, Brahman is conceived as Brahman with attributes (personal deity) or as Ishvara (the lord of the cosmos), endowed with infinite qualities.
Let us seek out this uninvited guest and offer him proper hospitality. What is the fruit of this? Logic cannot tell us. Here we must rely upon the experience of the sages. The Lord himself has spoken—
तेषां सततयुक्तानां भजताां प्रीतिपूर्वकम्। ददामि बुद्धियोगं तं येन मामुपयान्ति ते॥ (Bhagavad Gita, 10/10)
तेषामेवानुकम्पार्थमहमज्ञानजं तमः। नाशयाम्यात्मभावस्थो ज्ञानदीपेन भास्वता॥ (Bhagavad Gita, 10/11)
अनन्याश्चिन्तयन्तो मां ये जनाः पर्युपासते। तेषां नित्याभियुक्तानां योगक्षेमं वहाम्यहम्॥ (Bhagavad Gita, 9/22)
Meanings: (Bhagavad Gita, 10/10) To those devotees who worship me with unwavering love, their minds ever fixed upon me, I bestow the yoga of wisdom, by means of which they attain me.
(Here the word 'yoga of wisdom' denotes knowledge of the Divine truth, through which those devoted seekers come to know the Supreme Lord dwelling within all beings.)
(Bhagavad Gita, 10/11) Out of compassion for them, I dwell within their very self and, with the radiant lamp of discriminative wisdom, dispel the darkness of delusion born of ignorance that dwells in their hearts.
(Thus does the Lord, moved by love for his devotees, destroy the ignorance-born darkness within them, and the devotee then receives knowledge through divine grace. Devotion thus culminates in wisdom.)
(Bhagavad Gita, 9/22) Those devotees who, with their minds undivided, meditate upon me, ever absorbed in my thought, who worship me alone—I sustain their yoga and their welfare; I secure for them what they lack and preserve what they possess.
(The Lord provides sustenance for all—so why speak this specially? Because the wise one, knowing that nothing is real save the Self, strives not even for his own survival, nor depends upon another. Hence the Lord declares: I myself bear the burden of such wise ones. Many of the great have lived by utter renunciation—yet all things needful for survival come to them. The lives of countless sages attest to this truth. The Lord bears the burden of his devoted servant—were it not so, the renouncing devotees would have perished of hunger long ago.)
Shall I meditate upon God day and night, or labor ceaselessly for the welfare of all beings, for the good of my country, for the good of my people? Then when shall I think of the body's sustenance, of worldly cares? If the body fails, neither can one contemplate God nor serve others—such is the doubt and question of the householder. And he may cite many precedents from the wisdom of the ancients: "By living, one obtains dharma" (Vishvamitra); "One must always protect the Self" (Manu); "To save the Self, one may even renounce the world" (Vidura); "A sound body is the first means of fulfilling dharma"—for without physical and mental health, neither worldly nor spiritual duties can be properly discharged (Kalidasa), and so forth.
In answer to this, the Blessed Lord says: Those who remain ever united with me, constantly absorbed in my meditation, ever engaged in my work—I myself take upon my shoulders their yoga and their welfare; I assume the burden of preserving their body and all that sustains it.
Does God, then, provide for the sustenance of those who are not His devotees? No—He does provide for them too; He is the sustainer of all beings, the protector of all creatures, the friend of every living thing. Yet they must strive, whereas the steadfast devotee of the Lord need not—somehow, all their wants are met. Therein lies the difference. In truth, those upon whom grace has bestowed unwavering devotion to the Lord, or equanimity everywhere, do not engage in God's work through calculated reasoning; they are drawn to it naturally, inevitably, by their very nature. Simply put, their mind does not wander to other concerns, nor do they lack for their own sustenance or their family's livelihood. Yet such instances are exceedingly rare; the reason is that such singular devotion itself is exceedingly rare. By way of example, one might recall the celebrated allegorical account of Arjun Misra from the *Bhaktimal*, composed by the great-souled Sri Laldas Babuji.
According to Shridhara Swami, the word *yoga-kshema* means liberation. In the Katha Upanishad (1/2/2), the term *yoga-kshema* is used in the sense of *shreya*—the highest good. In Buddhist scripture too, *yoga-kshema* is employed to mean *nirvana*. The Dhammapada contains—
Te jhayino satatika nircam dalbhaparkka ma. Phusanti dhira nibbanam yoga-kshmem anuttharam. (From the Appamado Vagga, 3)
Those meditants, ever industrious and perpetually steadfast in strength, attain supreme peace—nirvana. Buddhist nirvana and Vedic liberation are synonymous. The meaning offered by Shridhara Swami seems the more fitting. For liberation alone is the sole desire and necessity of the seeker—and the Lord Himself has taken upon His shoulders all responsibility for its bestowal, as proclaimed in this very verse of the Gita. Whoever has taken refuge in the Lord's sacred feet and dwells in proximity to liberation—what deficiency could possibly remain for them?