World Suicide Prevention Day, September 10.

Suicide is a mystery, a wound left behind for the living. Those who remain are haunted by unanswerable questions: was it despair, weakness, unbearable pressure, or something else entirely? Osho reminds us that suicide is deeply human, born from a fragmented mind fighting itself, unlike animals who know no such conflict. Understanding this makes mental health not a side conversation, but urgent, compassionate work we owe each other.

DURING THREE YEARS OF SEVERE TRAINING UNDER THE GREAT MASTER GIZAN, KOSHU WAS UNABLE TO GAIN SATORI.
AT THE BEGINNING OF A SPECIAL SEVEN-DAY SESSION OF DISCIPLINE, HE THOUGHT HIS CHANCE HAD FINALLY COME. HE CLIMBED THE TOWER OF THE TEMPLE GATE, AND GOING UP TO THE ARHAT IMAGES HE MADE THIS VOW: EITHER I REALIZE MY DREAMS UP HERE, OR THEY'LL FIND MY DEAD BODY AT THE FOOT OF THIS TOWER.
HE WENT WITHOUT FOOD OR SLEEP, GIVING HIMSELF UP TO CONSTANT ZAZEN, OFTEN CRYING OUT THINGS LIKE: WHAT WAS MY KARMA THAT IN SPITE OF ALL THESE EFFORTS I CAN'T GRASP THE WAY?
AT LAST HE ADMITTED FAILURE, AND, DETERMINED TO END IT ALL, HE WENT TO THE RAILING AND SLOWLY LIFTED HIS LEG OVER IT. AT THAT VERY INSTANT HE HAD AN AWAKENING.
OVERJOYED, HE RUSHED DOWN THE STAIRS AND THROUGH THE RAIN TO GIZAN'S ROOM.
BEFORE HE HAD A CHANCE TO SPEAK, THE MASTER CRIED: BRAVO! -- YOU'VE FINALLY HAD YOUR DAY.

Man is the only animal who can think of, try to, or actually commit suicide. Suicide is very special. It is human.
Animals live, they die, but they cannot commit suicide. They live, but there are not any problems, life doesn't create any 'angst,' anguish. Life is not an anxiety for them -- they simply live it; and then, as simply as they live, they simply die. Animals don't have any death consciousness. In fact, they are neither aware of life, nor of death, so the question of suicide doesn't arise. They are not conscious at all; they live in the deepest sleep of the unconscious.
Only man can commit suicide. That means that only man can do something about life or death; it means that only man can stand against life. This possibility is there because man is conscious. But remember, the problems of life, the anxiety, the tension, the anguish, or the final decision to commit suicide, do not come out of consciousness -- they come out of a fragmentary consciousness.
This has to be understood deeply. A Buddha is also conscious, but he cannot commit suicide, cannot even think about it. Suicide doesn't exist for a Buddha, but he is also conscious. Why? Animals are unconscious totally; Buddha is conscious totally. With total consciousness there is no problem, or, with total unconsciousness there is no problem. In fact, to be total in any way is to be beyond problems.
A man is fragmentarily conscious: a part of him has become conscious. That creates the whole problem. The remaining, the greater part, remains unconscious. Man has become two. One part is conscious, the remaining whole is unconscious. A discontinuity has happened in man. He is not one whole. He is not one piece. He is double. The duality has come in. He is just like an iceberg, floating in the ocean: one-tenth is out of the water, nine-tenths is hidden underneath. The same is the proportion of human consciousness and unconsciousness: one-tenth of consciousness has become conscious, nine-tenths of consciousness is still in the unconscious. Just the top layer is conscious, and the whole being remains underneath in deep darkness.
Of course there are going to be problems, because a conflict has arisen in the being. You have become two; and the conscious part is so small that it is almost impotent. It can talk, it is very articulate; it can think but when the moment comes to do something, it is the unconscious which is needed because the unconscious has the energy to do it. You can decide that you will not be angry again, but this decision comes from the impotent part of the mind, that part which is conscious; which can see that anger is futile, harmful, poisonous; which can see the whole situation, and decide. But the decision has no power behind it, because all power belongs to the whole which is still unconscious. The conscious part decides, 'I will not be angry again,' and it is not -- until the situation arises. When the situation arises, the conscious is pushed aside, and the unconscious surfaces. It is vital, it is forceful, it has energy, and suddenly you are overpowered. The conscious may try a little while, but it is useless -- agains the tide it is nothing. When the unconscious becomes a tide and comes to take over a situation, you are possessed, you are no more yourself as you know yourself to be, your ego is thrown off-gear.
All the decision taken by your conscious are simply insignificant: it is the unconscious which does things. Again, when the situation has gone, the unconscious recedes and the conscious comes back onto the throne. The conscious comes on the throne only when the unconscious is not there.
It is like a servant. When the emperor is not there the servant sits on the throne and orders. Of course, nobody is there to listen to him, he is alone. When the emperor comes the servant simply has to leave the throne and listen to the emperor. The bigger part of you always remains the emperor, the lesser part remains like a servant.
Then much conflict arises, because the part that decides cannot act, and the part that acts cannot decide. The part that sees things can think about them, but has no energy; and the part that cannot see, is completely blind, has all the energy.
In animals there are not two parts, only the unconscious exists, and with no thinking, it acts. There is no problem, because there is no inner conflict. In a Buddha, also, the same happens from the other end: the whole has become conscious. This is the meaning of enlightenment, satori, samadhi. You have again become one like an animal -- one piece. Now, whatsoever Buddha decides, automatically it happens, because there is nobody against it, nobody unaware of it. Thee is no other in the house. Buddha lives alone in the house, so Buddha need not struggle. He sees a situation, he decides and acts. In fact, decision and action are not two in a Buddha -- decision is the act. He simply sees that anger is useless, and anger disappears. There is no effort to impose on it, force it. A Buddha remains loose and natural. He can afford to. You cannot afford to be loose and natural, because the moment you are loose and natural the unconscious comes in. You have to go on controlling yourself, and the more you control, the more artificial you become.
A civilized human being is a plastic flower. He has no vitality, no energy -- and when there is no energy, thee is no delight. One of the greatest English poets, William Blake, has a beautiful line about it, a very deep insight. He says: Energy is delight. Thee is no other delight. The very vitality, the very energy of being, is delight, is bliss. Only impotence is misery, weakness is misery. And duality creates impotence.
And whatsoever small energy is left after you are divided in two, that too goes as a wastage in the inner conflict. You are continuously fighting inside, continuously suppressing something, continuously trying to force something else. Anger comes, and you would like to be non-angry; greed comes, and you would like to be greed-less; possession comes, and you would like to be non-possessive; violence comes, and you would like to be non-violent; there is cruelty, and you go on imposing compassion; there is much turmoil, and you would like to be serene and silent; something goes on inside, and you go on imposing something else on it, continuous fight dissipates the remaining energy. And this is going to be so, unless you become one again.
There are two ways to become one: either fall back to the animal, or rise up to the Buddha.
Of course, falling back is easier. Effort will not be needed, you can simply slip back. It is downhill, no effort; and going up is difficult. Hence millions of people choose the downhill way. What is the downhill way as far as consciousness is concerned? Drugs, alcohol, sex, are the downhill way.
In a deep sexual act you again become an animal, you are no more human. The gap is bridged. In a deep sexual orgasm, the duality disappears, the controller is no more there. In a deep sexual act, your whole starts functioning as a whole. Mind is no longer there, ego is no longer there, the controller and the control are no longer there, because the sexual act is non-voluntary. Your will is not needed, your will is not required. You are no more a will, the will is surrendered. Suddenly you are back to the world, the animal world, the natural world; again you have entered into the Garden of Eden, again you are Adam or Eve -- no more a civilized human being.
That's why all societies condemn sex. They are afraid of it. It is a back door to the Garden of Eden. All civilizations are afraid of sex. The fear comes, because once you know an uncontrolled existence then you would not like control at all. You can become a rebel, you can throw all the rules and regulations to the winds, you can throw Confucius to the dust. Again you can become an animal; and civilization is afraid of it. So, sex is allowed, because if it is not allowed then too it will create trouble. It is such a deep-rooted instinct in the very biology, in the very physiology of you, in the very deeper chemistry, that if it is not allowed, it will create perversion, you may go mad. So society allows it in mild, homeopathic doses. That is the meaning of marriage -- marriage is a mild, homeopathic dose controlled in a certain way. You are allowed a little window out of society, but society still manages the outer control. Marriage is love plus law -- that 'plus law' is the control around it. If love is allowed without any law, the fear is that man will fall again into an animal world.
And the fear seems to be true; the fear has meaning. Man can fall through love, because man can rise through love. Man can fall through it because the ladder is always the same whether you go up or you go down. Love can rise to such heights that Jesus can say: Love is God. And love can fall to such depths that society is constantly on watch, the police are always around, the magistrate is sitting there.
Love is not a freedom. Why, in love, can man fall so deep? Because in love the control is lost, the chasm is bridged, you become one piece again -- but you regress to the animal world. Love can also lead you to the Divine, but then love has to be very, very meditative. Then love has to be 'love plus meditation." That is what Tantra is -- 'Love plus meditation.' You move into love, you allow your whole being total freedom, but still, deep at the center, you remain a witness. If the witness is lost, you are going downhill; if the witness remains there, then love, the same ladder, can lead you to the very ultimate heaven.
Alcohol... all societies have been against it, but still, they have to allow it, because they know that without alcohol there would be much chaos. Alcohol has to e allowed in mild doses, legal doses; legally it has to be allowed. Why? Because it soothes people; it is a tranquilizer. And people are in such inner anguish, they need something to soothe them. Otherwise they would simply go berserk. They would simply go mad. So no society can afford freedom about alcohol, but no society can prohibit it completely. That is not possible. Either way it will be difficult to manage. Alcohol is a need. It is a need because the tension is so great inside that you would go made because of it.
And then many types of drugs have cropped up -- and it is not for the first time, it has been always so. From the soma of Rigveda to LSD 5, it has always been so. Again and again drugs pop up. Again they have to be pushed down, crushed; and society tries to forget them. But again they come back. Thee seems to be a deep need. The need is: a bridge is needed between the conscious and unconscious. Unless a man becomes sincerely meditative, drugs will be needed. Unless you go upwards, you will have to fall downwards.
You cannot remain static. This is one of the deeper laws of existence: nobody can remain static. Either ha has to go up, or he has to fall down; because life knows no rest, it knows only movement. Either you go forward, or you will be thrown backward, but you cannot say that you will stick to your state -- you will not go down and you will not go up.
No, that is not possible. If you are not going up, you are already falling down -- you may or you may not know it. Only a meditative society can be free of alcohol and drugs, and other chemical ways to bridge the gap.
You can bridge the gap through being more alert, that's why there is so much emphasis on being alert, aware, witnessing, watchful. Why? Because the more you become alert, the more the unconscious becomes conscious. That is the only way. If you remain more alert, if you walk with awareness, if you talk, listen, with awareness, if you eat, take your bath, with awareness, not like a robot, not walking in sleep and doing things, or doing things and thinking about other things -- that too is a sort of sleep -- no, if consciously, mindfully, you do your thing, chunks of the unconscious are being transformed into consciousness, and by and by, more and more of your iceberg comes out of the water of darkness, out of the ocean.
When the whole of you is out of darkness, this is samadhi, this enlightenment, this is the state of a Buddha, or an ARHAT: one who has no longer any unconsciousness in him, one who has no longer any dark corners within his being. The whole house is lighted. Now, you have attained to a unity -- on a higher plane. So a Buddha is pure like an animal, simple like an animal. The animal has its innocence because of ignorance, and Buddha has his innocence because of his enlightened awareness. The cause has changed.
This is the first thing, before we enter this story.
The second thing: a man comes to a point where he starts feeling that suicide is the only way to get out of this whole mess. This point comes in everybody's life -- when you are totally fed up with the struggle, when you are totally bored with the whole effort of being.
Remember, just like suicide, boredom is also very special, it is also human. No animal is ever bored. Look at a buffalo, chewing grass, the same grass every day, sitting and chewing and chewing, never bored. You may get bored looking at her: she is not bored. No animal is ever bored, you cannot bore an animal. Too thick, too dense a mind -- how can you bore? For boredom a very, very high sensitivity is needed, the higher your sensitivity, the higher will be your boredom, the more will be your boredom. Children are not bored; they still belong more to the animal world than to the human, they are human animals. They still enjoy simple things, they are not bored. Every day they can go hunting for butterflies and they will never be bored -- and they are ready to go every day. Have you ever talked to children, told them a story, the same story? They will say: Tell it again. And you tell it again and they will say: Tell it again.
You cannot bore children. You cannot bore animals. Boredom is human, a very great quality, in fact, because it exists only on a higher plane of consciousness. When one is very sensitive one feels boredom -- life seems meaningless, there seems to be no purpose in it; one feels as if it is just an accident, whether you are here or not makes no difference. The moment comes when one is so utterly bored that one starts thinking of committing suicide.
What is suicide? It is simply dropping out. It is just saying that enough is enough. I don't want to play the game again. I want to drop out of the whole game. Unless this point is reached, religion is not possible, because only from this point can you either commit suicide, or transform yourself. Here is the crossroad.
So this has been my observation: people who become prematurely religious simply waste their time. To become prematurely religious means to become religious without being really fed up with life, not yet rally bored. The game still has some attraction. It may be sex, it may be money, it may be politics, power. But something in life still has an attraction. Then prematurely you have become religious, and this will not help: you will simply waste your time. One has to be utterly bored; life has no more attraction; all the dreams are shattered; all the rainbows have disappeared; there are no more flowers, only thorns; you are saturated with it. Then there is no effort on your part to leave it or renounce it -- remember. If there is any effort to renounce it, it means there was a little attraction left. Otherwise, what is the effort? When you are fed up with a thing, do you renounce it? No, there is no need to renounce. It is already renounced.
If you escape to the forest, from whom are you escaping? From some attractions lingering in the world - otherwise why? Where are you escaping to, and why? Even in escape you are showing that you are attached to something. Remember this -- this is the rule: from wherever you escape, there is your attraction. If you escape from woman, woman is your attraction. If you escape from politics, politics is your attraction. And the faster you run, the greater is the attraction.
This is premature, you will be called back. You may go to the Himalayas, but you will think that you have been chosen a president of a country. You will dream. Sitting in the Himalayas in this lonely cave, you will find many apsaras, beautiful women, coming from heaven. They are your mind's children. Nobody is sending beautiful women to you: it is from woman that you have escaped.
Premature. There is no renunciation in a premature mind. Maturity is needed, and maturity means you have lived life, known it to the very depth, and found it lacking. There is nothing in it, the journey is complete; you can live in the market, or you can go to the monastery. It doesn't matter, it is all the same. Life is no longer an attraction: wherever you are it makes no difference. This point is the point of suicide. And this point is the point of SANNYAS. Suicide or SANNYAS: this is the alternative. And, unless your SANNYAS is an alternative to suicide, it is not very significant.
This is the point where you can feel the difference between a religious mind and a secular mind. A secular mind has no alternative. When he is bored with life, suicide is the only way, there is no alternative to it.
An atheist -- what will he do when he is fed up with life? He can commit suicide. That's why in the West more suicide is committed. That's why more men commit suicide than women. The number is almost double because men are more atheistic than women, less religious than women. In the East less and less suicide is committed, in the West more and more. You go westwards, and you move into the hemisphere of suicide.
Great thinkers, philosophers, logicians, commit suicide more than ordinary people, because thinking implies doubt, and a man who doubts, in fact becomes a believer in atheism. You cannot remain in doubt because doubt is empty. You have to cling to some belief -- either in God, or no God; either in the possibility of a future life, or no possibility of a future life; either in a meaning, a transcendental meaning to higher planes, or no higher planes; but you have to decide. You cannot remain in doubt.
I have never seen anybody who lives in doubt. He may call himself a sceptic: no, skepticism is his belief. He may call himself an atheist -- I don't believe in God -- but he believes in his non-belief. And he believes as arrogantly as any theist; and he is as ready to defend his belief as any theist is ready to argue, to prove. Nobody can live in doubt.
So there are two types of minds: secular and religious. It will be good to understand the difference. A secular mind believes in whatsoever is apparent, whatsoever he can see, touch. A religious mind believes not only in the apparent, but in the transcendental. The religious mind is one which says that eyes cannot exhaust reality. Reality is more than eyes can see. Hands cannot clasp all that is: reality is more. Ears cannot hear all that is: reality is more. A religious mind says that whatsoever you know is only a part -- there is a beyond, this life is not all. There is more to life, there are more openings. A secular mind is closed mind; a religious mind is an open mind -- always ready to move, always ready to probe, always ready to enquire, always ready to travel to the unknown. If you have a secular mind, when you get fed up with life, and you have lived all that life can give, and you have found it useless, futile, at the most a toy to be engaged with, occupied with -- and how long can you be occupied with a toy? -- then a moment comes, a moment of maturity, when the toy has to be thrown away. Then there is nothing. This life was all, now it has flopped. You can commit suicide. There is nothing else for you.
Only at the moment of suicide does one come to know the beautiful world of religion. And what the meaning of religion is, is only realized then. Because this life is finished, but there is more life; this world is finished, but the university is vast; this dimension has finished, but there are millions of dimensions -- layers and layers and layers of being and existence. There is no end to it. This open mind is the religious mind, and this vastness of possibilities is what is meant by God. God is the infinite possibility for you to grow. When one direction is finished, another direction opens. In fact, whenever a door is closed, another opens immediately.
At this moment of suicide one stands at a crossroad: either destroy yourself, or create yourself in a new way. The old is no longer of any meaning. Either destroy yourself completely -- that is suicide -- or create yourself in a totally new way so that you enter a new world, and a new life, and a new love.
A secular mind is simply destructive, a religious mind is creative. The religious mind says that when a world has finished it shows simply that the way you lived, the very base of your life, is finished -- nothing else. You can live in another way; another style of being is possible. Create anew. Up to now you have lived as a body, now you can live as a soul. Up to now you have lived in a material way, now you can live in a spiritual way. Up to now you have lived with greed and anger and sex, jealousy and possessiveness, now live in a different way, non-possessive, in compassion. Up to now you lived with greed as your base, now live as a sharing, your whole being sharing with others. Up to now you lived with thinking and thoughts and it failed, now live as meditation, as ecstasy. Up to now you were moving outwards and outwards and outwards. Now turn back.
This is the meaning of conversion: turn back, move towards the source. The outer has finished, the inner is there: now move inwards. A new being arises.
Hindus have called this point the point of being reborn. One birth is given by the parents -- that's the birth in the physical world. Another birth is given by yourself -- that's the birth, the real birth, of your being. Hindus call this rebirth, and for the man who has attained to it they have a particular name -- they call him DWIJ -- twice born. Out of his own womb he now gives a new birth to himself. A new dimension opens: the dimension of meaning, of significance, of eternal significance. But it happens only when you have come to such a bored state of being that you would like to commit suicide.
Now, we will enter this beautiful Zen story.
DURING THREE YEARS OF SEVERE TRAINING
UNDER THE GREAT MASTER GIZAN,
KOSHU WAS UNABLE TO GAIN SATORI.
Satori is samadhi, the first samadhi, the very entrance into samadhi, another world, totally unknown to you, totally unimagined by you, not even dreamed of by you. That world exists just by the side of this world. In fact you have not to move even a single step: just by the side of this world, just in it, it exists. Only your viewpoint has to change. Suddenly when you have a new viewpoint to look at the same world, another is revealed. The world is your viewpoint, nothing else. This world is ugly because your viewpoint is wrong. If this world is just an anguish, a hell, it is because your viewpoint is wrong. It is not in fact the world which is a hell: it is you who create hell around it; it is your projection.
The world is neutral, it is like a film screen -- clean, white, plain, pure. And then it depends what you project on it. You can project hell, you can project heaven -- or you may drop all projections. That is what MOKSHA is. Not projecting anything is the ultimate liberation.
DURING THREE YEARS OF SEVERE TRAINING
UNDER THE GREAT MASTER GIZAN,
KOSHU WAS UNABLE TO GAIN SATORI.
Something has to be understood here. If you don't make any effort, you will never attain, but you can make too much effort also, and miss. sometimes you can overdo; and this is a very, very delicate matter -- how to balance just in the middle. It is easy not to do anything, it is also easy to overdo a thing. The difficult thing is just to be in the middle, in the right proportion.
For the ego, extremes are easy. Not to do anything is very easy, then to do it too much is also easy. People whose bodies have become too filled with fat come to me and ask me what to do. Should they go on a fast? And I know that either they can eat too much, obsessively, or they can go on a fast. Both are easy. But if you tell them to just cut their intake to half, it is difficult. They can starve themselves, that is not very difficult. Easy. They can stuff themselves too much, that too is easy, because in both cases they are doing harm to the body. The quality of their murderous attitude towards the body remains the same. They can overstuff it: this is a sort of murder, violence. Then they can do another type of violence: they can go on a fast. Both are extremes and both are wrong. The extreme is always wrong. To remain in the middle is always right.
This Koshu must have overdone things. And it happens always that when you come to a master you become infatuated. When you are near a master you are so attracted by his being that you would like to take a jump, you would like to become like him, you would like to do anything, your activity becomes feverish -- you are in too much of a hurry.
Koshu must have done too much, otherwise with a master like Gizan, you can simply sit by his side and satori can happen. Why three years of effort and he was still missing? He had overdone it.
When you overdo a certain thing, anxiety is created; when you overdo a certain thing, inner turmoil is created. You are unbalanced, you cannot be at peace, and satori happens only when you are at home. In fact, satori happens only when you are really relaxed.
Do only that much which helps relaxation, don't overdo it. And one has to feel his own way, because no fixed formula can be given, because it differs and depends. Each person has to find his own balance, and, by-and-by, one becomes aware of what balance is. Balance is a state of mind where you are silent, no exertion, this way or that.
When you are lethargic and don't do much, then your energy becomes a turmoil, because too much energy inside will create restlessness. Children are restless. There is too much energy coming into their being and they don't know what to do, where to throw it. If you are lethargic, you will have too much energy creating turmoil; your own energy will become your enemy. Or, if you become too active, do too much, if you do a certain thing so much that it drains your energy off, and you feel drained, tired, then again you will be restless, because you need a certain level of energy inside. Either too much energy will create restlessness, or, too drained of energy, you will feel restless.
With a master it almost always happens. He has a magnetic center in him, you become infatuated. It is like a love affair -- you fall in love and then a fever arises. Love is a sort of fever. The temperature goes high.
This must have happened to Koshu, because after three years nothing happened.
AT THE BEGINNING OF A SPECIAL SEVEN-DAY SESSION OF DISCIPLINE, HE THOUGHT HIS CHANCE HAD FINALLY COME.
Every year, or every six months, or every three months, they have a special seven-day discipline in Zen monasteries called zazen. In these seven days one has to do nothing but meditate. The whole energy has to be brought to it, for seven days continuously, only stopping for food -- that too, very little -- and for two to three hours sleep in the night, that's all. For the remaining twenty hours one has to meditate and meditate. One has to sit for even six hours continuously in a meditative posture, and meditate. And when one feels completely tired, or sleepy, and one cannot sit any more, then one has to walk and meditate. And in the whole seven-day session the master is around you with his staff, because when you meditate for three to four hours, even half an hour is enough for one to start feeling sleepy. so he hits you on the head with the staff. Whosoever is feeling sleepy will be hit immediately and brought back. Seven days of very strenuous effort.... That helps lethargic people.
But this Koshu must have been totally the opposite. A session wouldn't help him, a special effort wouldn't help him: he had been doing that already for three years. In fact, he needed a different type of special meditation -- seven days of relaxation.
This has not existed in the Zen discipline. It should, it has to, because there are two types of people: the lethargic and the overactive For lethargic people it is good that for a few days they should try their utmost; for lethargic people it is good. But they are ninety-nine percent, that is why for the one percent nobody has bothered. For the one percent, who have already been doing too much, this session will not be of any help.
But...
AT THE BEGINNING OF A SPECIAL SEVEN-DAY SESSION OF DISCIPLINE, HE THOUGHT HIS CHANCE HAD FINALLY COME.
Now he would be doing all that he could do, for almost twenty-four hours he would be meditating. Now the satori could not escape his grasp.
HE CLIMBED THE TOWER OF THE TEMPLE GATE,
AND GOING UP TO THE arhat IMAGES HE MADE THIS VOW:
EITHER I REALIZE MY DREAMS UP HERE,
OR THEY WILL FIND MY DEAD BODY AT THE FOOT OF THIS TOWER.
Now he wanted to bring his total energy to it, and he was sincere, he was serious. He really wanted to have satori. Even if his life had to be paid for it he was ready.
EITHER I REALIZE MY DREAMS UP HERE,
he said in the tower, before the Buddha image,
OR THEY WILL FIND MY DEAD BODY AT THE FOOT OF THIS TOWER.
He would commit suicide.
This is a point, a very rare point in life -- when you are ready to give so much, when you are really sincere. Then suicide, or samadhi -- this is the only alternative.
HE WENT WITHOUT FOOD OR SLEEP,
for seven days he didn't take any food, he didn't sleep,
GIVING HIMSELF UP TO CONSTANT ZAZEN...
Zazen is just sitting silently in a buddha posture, not doing anything, simply being aware; no food, no sleep, just sitting for twenty-four hours. He's doing his best, the last that he can do, the utmost..
..OFTEN CRYING THINGS LIKE:
WHAT WAS MY KARMA, THAT, IN SPITE OF ALL THESE EFFORTS,
I CAN'T GRASP THE WAY?
The moment comes to every seeker, when he feels that he is doing all that he can do, nothing more is possible.
WHAT WAS MY KARMA THAT IN SPITE OF ALL THESE EFFORTS
I CAN'T GRASP THE WAY?
But, in fact, he couldn't grasp the way BECAUSE of these efforts -- not in spite of them, BECAUSE of them.
First, lethargy is the problem, how to bring you out of your lethargy. And then secondly, the problem is how to help you to remain in the middle. Not to move to the opposite end, the hyperactivity, but to remain balanced. Koshu had overdone it. But that helped in a different way -- through it satori was never reached, through it he couldn't realize.
AT LAST HE ADMITTED FAILURE, AND DETERMINED TO END IT ALL... Now nothing was there, all that he could do he had done; more he could not do, more was not there to be done. So now there was no hope; for what to wait now?
AT LAST HE ADMITTED FAILURE... This failure is not ordinary failure, it is not a failure amid many failures, it is THE failure. When you fail in one thing it doesn't make any difference, because there are many others you will succeed in. When you fail in one effort, you know that you can make another effort. But this is THE failure, because he had done whatsoever he could do, more could not be done. And there was nothing else: with life he was already finished, now he had no more dates with life, that game was completely over. He had done everything that he could think of and do. He accepted the failure -- satori had not happened.
... AND, DETERMINED TO END IT ALL...
So now suicide was the only possibility. Samadhi was not there for him. He could only commit suicide.
... HE WENT TO THE RAILING AND SLOWLY LIFTED HIS LEG OVER IT.
AT THAT VERY INSTANT HE HAD AN AWAKENING.
The satori happened, the vast sky of samadhi opened immediately.
This has to be understood, because it may be the same for you. This is not only one case, in many cases it has been so. When you are a failure, a total failure, many things happen within you -- the ego evaporates. Even in zazen, sitting silently for seven days, without food, without sleep, the ego was there. In fact, who is asking for samadhi? Who is there who asks that samadhi should happen? This is the last effort of the ego; the ego wants to grasp it, and that is the barrier. When he accepted failure, the ego dissolved, because the ego exists only with success. Success is the food, the very stuff that the ego lives on. If you are really a failure, a complete failure, how can the ego remain there? The ego cannot exist in ultimate failure. The ego disappeared; and with the ego, lethargy and hyperactivity, too much activity, both disappeared. Without ego you are in the balance. Suddenly, everything fits and you are in the balance. Without ego there is no extreme, it cannot exist; extreme exists as an ego effort. Suddenly ego is not there and you are in the middle. And now, the very effort of suicide is very, every balanced.
AT LAST HE ADMITTED FAILURE, AND, DETERMINED TO END IT ALL,
HE WENT TO THE RAILING AND SLOWLY LIFTED HIS LEG OVER IT.
Why slowly? Now, suicide was not really something he was going to do: suicide was something that was happening to him. Finished with the world, there was no hurry also, because he was not going to go anywhere, he was simply dropping out of existence. There was no hurry.
Silently, slowly, he came to the railing. This is really a beautiful moment, very deep. Already this suicide is different. You can commit suicide in very great hyper-tension -- that's how people commit suicide, in hyper-tension. If they are delayed, even for a single moment, they will not commit suicide. It has to be committed when you are completely mad. It has to be done when really you are so tense that you don't know what you are doing. So, if you can delay suicide even for a single moment, it will never happen.
I had a friend. He was in love with a woman and the woman rejected him. So, of course, being a poet, he thought of committing suicide. His family was very disturbed. They all tried to convince him; but the more they tried, the more he became convinced that he was going to commit suicide. This happens. Not knowing what to do, they locked his door. He started beating his head against the door.They became very much afraid. What to do?
Suddenly they remembered me and called me. I went there. He was beating his head against the door; he was really in a fury and completely determined. I went near the door and I said to him, "Why are you making so much show out of it? If you want to commit suicide, do it But why so much nose? And why are you beating your head? Just by beating your head on the door you will not die. So, listen to me, come with me. We can go to the river, there is a beautiful point where I have always meditated. If ever I am to commit suicide, this is the place. You come with me, this is a good chance."
Because I was not saying anything against suicide, he calmed down. He was not hitting his head. He was really puzzled, because you never expect that your friend will help you to commit suicide. So I told him, "You open the door and don't make a fool of yourself, and don't help crowds to gather here. Why so much showmanship about it? You simply come with me and drop yourself in the river. There is a waterfall in the river and you will simply disappear."
So he opened the door and he looked at me, he was very puzzled. I took his hand, brought him home. He said, "When are we going?" But he was a little afraid, now that I was ready I was dangerous. So I said, "This is a full-moon night and there is no hurry. When one wants to die, one should choose an auspicious moment. So we will go in the middle of the night, then the full moon will be just there and I can say good-bye and you can jump. He became more and more afraid. I was simply delaying the time.
We went to bed at ten o'clock. I fixed the alarm for twelve, and I told him that sometimes I didn't hear the alarm, so if he heard it first he should wake me. Immediately the alarm started he put it off. I waited for a few minutes, then I said, "Why are you waiting? Wake me." He became suddenly angry and said, "Are you my friend or my enemy? It seems you want to kill me." I said, "I'm not making any judgment on my own. If you want to die, I am a friend, I have to cooperate and help. If you don't want to die, that's your decision, so you tell me. I am neutral. The car is ready, I will drive you to the spot; the night is beautiful and the moon has come up. Now it is up to you." He said, "Take me to my home. I am not going to die. And who are you to force me to die?"
I was not forcing anybody -- just a delayed moment and one comes to one's senses. But this is not that type of suicide.
I must tell you, by the way, that there is only one religion in the world which allows suicide -- Jainism. It is rare; only Mahavira allows suicide. He says that if you can die very silently, without any emotionality about it, it is beautiful, nothing is wrong with it. But it has to be done over a very long time, otherwise you never know. So you have to stop taking food, that's all. It takes almost three months for a person to die without food. For three months the body goes on and on, using its reservoirs, energy, and food and everything. One goes on becoming more and more skinny, the flesh disappears, then only the skeleton remains. Nearly three months it takes.
So Mahavira says that if you want to die, and if this suicide is going to be a religious dropping out, then don't do it in a hurry. Do it simply, because you have three months to think, and you can go back, nobody is forcing you. And there have been many people who have done it that way in the past: many people have dropped out of existence after not taking food for three months -- simply meditating, lying down. Then that suicide is more beautiful than your ordinary life because they are not really killing themselves, they are moving to another realm.
This Koshu moved slowly, there was no hurry. In fact, when life doesn't mean anything to you, death also doesn't mean anything to you. When life is useless, death is also useless, because death is nothing but the culmination of life. Death means so much to you because life means so much to you. It is always in the same proportion. If life is very, very meaningful to you, you will be afraid of death. When life is meaningless, of course death is also meaningless. There is no hurry.
He came to the railing,
HE WENT TO THE RAILING AND SLOWLY LIFTED HIS LEG OVER IT.
At that moment... Just visualize the picture -- a Buddhist monk standing on a tower slowly lifting his feet, and suddenly there is all that he always wanted to be. The satori has happened, the lightning.
What happened in that moment? Slowly lifting the leg up to commit suicide, life was completely finished; there was no greed in the mind, not even for satori. There was no ego in the mind, not even for religious achievement. The future had completely dropped, because it exists only with desires. Desire is future, longing is future. Only one longing had remained there inside him -- for satori. That longing was creating future and time, that longing was the last barrier. The last barrier had dropped. Now there was no future, no desire. Only this moment existed.
At the moment when Koshu lifted his leg slowly, all time stopped -- no past, no future: no past because life had been realized as useless; no future because there was no longing, even for satori.
That leg lifted up, time stopped. That leg lifted up, mind stopped -- because there was nothing to achieve, nothing to think. At that moment he crossed out of time. At that moment he transcended time. At that moment his being became vertical, no longer horizontal. No more past, no more future -- all the waste disappeared. At that moment of lifting, no only did he lift his leg, his whole being was lifted up. The vertical dimension started. And suddenly, there was satori.
Suddenly, AT THAT VERY INSTANT, HE HAD AN AWAKENING.
It always happens so: it happened in the same way to Buddha himself. He left the world, the palace, the beautiful wife, the newly born child, the whole empire. The world was no longer meaningful. Then for six years he tried and tried and tried his utmost. He went to every teacher, to every master that he came to know about. And he said, "I am ready to do whatsoever, but I want to know what life is, who I am." And the masters, many masters in those six years, told him to do many things, and he did them. And he did them so perfectly that no master could tell him that it was not happening because he was not doing well. That was impossible -- even the master was not as perfect as the disciple. So the masters accepted their failure, and they said that up to this moment, to this extent, they could help; beyond this they themselves didn't know. So he should seek another master. Then all the masters were finished.
Then he started doing things on his own; and he did everything that was prevalent in India for centuries. He tried all methods of hatha yoga, raja yoga. He did everything that was available. He overdid it. He was too anxious to achieve. He was too serious about it. His sincerity became a hyper-tension inside, and he couldn't attain.
Then one day, crossing the Niranjana River near Bodhgaya, he was so weak because of fasting that he couldn't cross it. It was a very small stream but he couldn't swim it, and he had to hang onto a root of a tree to save his life. He was so weak. In that moment he thought, "What have I done? I have destroyed my body and I have not attained to any soul; this whole effort has been foolish."
At that moment he dropped all efforts. The world was already useless, now the religious world of efforts was also useless. On that day he relaxed under a tree, which became the body tree under which he attained his enlightenment. He relaxed. That relaxation was total. For the first time, there was nothing to achieve: the achieving mind dropped. He had done everything and nothing more could be done. So what to do? He simply slept.
That night there was no dream, because when there is no desire there is no dream. dreams are the shadows of desires. Dreams are desires which go on haunting you even in your sleep. The whole night passed as if it was a single moment.
And in the morning, the early morning, when the last star was disappearing, he opened his eyes and looked at the star. He was in the same situation as Koshu was when Koshu lifted his leg and was going to drop himself from the tower. The disappearing last star -- and he opened his eyes with no mind inside, with no desire. Time stopped -- and suddenly, it was there. His longing was the barrier.
So, one has to long first, and one has to strive, and one has to make all the efforts, and one has to roam, and seek and enquire, and one has to do whatsoever one can do, and then, one has to drop all.
You cannot drop it right now, because you have nothing to drop. First you have to do, then you can drop. You can go to a tower, and you can raise your leg very, very slowly, but nothing will happen. Because it is not a question of the outer posture -- for the inner you have not yet done all that has to be done. You can go to a bodhi tree and lie down, completely relaxed, and in the morning, exactly when the last star is disappearing, you can open your eyes. Nothing will happen.
One has to pass through arduous effort to come to a total relaxation. Then suddenly it happens. In fact it has been always there around you; only you were not there. You were not present. You were moving in the mind, in the desires, in the future, in the past, in the memories, in the thoughts. You were too attached to clouds, that's why you couldn't see the sky. It was always there. In fact the clouds were roaming in the sky. Samadhi is all around you; samadhi is the ocean. And you are the fish -- but you are not present.
OVERJOYED, HE RUSHED DOWN THE STAIRS AND THROUGH THE RAIN TO GIZAN'S ROOM.
BEFORE HE HAD A CHANCE TO SPEAK, THE MASTER CRIED: BRAVO! -- YOU HAVE FINALLY HAD YOUR DAY.
The very quality of the person who has attained to satori changes. He need not say -- at least to the master -- he need not say, "I have achieved. " Because the very vibration, the very being of one who has achieved, is totally different. Even before he could say anything, the master said, "Bravo! So you have achieved, so it has happened." There was no need to talk about it. Once it happens, those who know will see it. Even those who don't know will start to feel it.
You cannot come to a man of realization without feeling something of the unknown, without listening to his footsteps in the world of the unknown, in the world of the mysterious. Mystery surrounds him. In his very shadow a very sacred quality exists. In his very movement there is a holiness, because he is whole. Satori makes you whole; samadhi makes you whole. Now there is no longer a division between conscious and unconscious. Suddenly it is bridged. The whole has become conscious.
The quality is just like this: you see a house in the night, with no light within. Then somebody lights a lamp inside. The whole quality of the house changes; even passers-by on the road will suddenly see that the light is burning in the house. The quality has changed. From the windows, from the doors, from the cracks, the light is shining to the outside. The house is no longer dark.
The Grass Grows by Itself ~ 06