The Awareness Lifestyle
The flower has a form, a personality. The fragrance is formless, it has no personality. It is there, it exists, but it exists not in a fixed form, it exists in a formless way. And that's what god is, a godliness. And the experience of this fragrance comes through meditation. There is no other way, there never has been, there never will be.
The really religious person has only one thing to do, and that is to become meditative. And by using the very word "meditation" there is a possibility of moving in a wrong direction -- because English has no exact word for "dhyana," meditation only comes close to it.
English has three words: concentration, contemplation, meditation. Concentration is of the mind. You focus your mind on a particular object, you exclude everything else, you just go on narrowing your vision. Hence in concentration everything can become a distraction. A dog starts barking and you will be distracted because you were excluding everything and now the barking dog has come in. Hence the concentrator is always angry because small things -- a mosquito -- can disturb his concentration. Anything is capable of distracting you because you are doing something unnatural.
Concentration is unnatural. It is enforced, a regimentation. It is something military-like; violently forcing the mind to remain pinpointed on one thing. And the nature of the mind is constantly flowing, moving. It is natural for the mind to move, it is a dynamic process, and you are trying to make this dynamic process stagnant.
Because it is against nature any excuse and the mind will immediately jump in and start moving. Even if you force the mind to be still for long periods you will be sitting on a volcano. It will be like a small child: you can force the child by saying, 'I will not give you food today. Sit in the corner and sit silently.' He can do it. You can tell him 'Close your eyes,' and he can. But just see: he is fidgeting, he is screwing up his eyes, afraid to open them but with every desire to. You can see the turmoil that is inside, but he is somehow holding himself back. He is in great trouble. That is the situation, when one is in the process of concentration.
Meditation is not concentration; it is not contemplation either. Contemplation means you are a little more fluid, a little more flowing, but you have to remain tethered to a particular subject. In concentration you have to remain pinpointed; in contemplation you have a little longer rope. You can roam around but you are tethered. For example, you are thinking about love. Mm? -- you can go on but you are only allowed to think about love.
Certainly it has more freedom than concentration but still the freedom is limited. You are in a bigger prison, that's all, but you are imprisoned. And still distractions will come -- less than in concentration but they will still come.
In English even “meditation” gives a wrong idea; it is as if you have to meditate upon something. But “dhyana,” the word in Sanskrit out of which the Japanese word “zen” has come, means there is no object, no subject, no concentration, no contemplation. You are simply sitting silently, witnessing whatsoever is. A dog starts barking, you witness it -- it is not a distraction. Music is being played, you listen to it -- it is not a distraction because you are not making any effort to concentrate. You are all-inclusive, nothing is excluded. The freedom is absolute. The only thing that has to be remembered is not to get identified with anything. Listen to the music but don't become the music, remain a witness.
So meditation can be defined as witnessing, not getting identified. Now this is a totally different phenomenon; there is no question of concentration, no question of contemplation.
You are just sitting by the side of the road and watching the traffic of the mind; allowing the mind whatsoever it wants to do fearlessly, allowing it wherever it wants to go -- to Timbuktu, to Toronto... wherever it wants to go. You just remain alert, aware, watchful.
And then a miracle starts happening: you start becoming aware of godliness in everything. Even the barking of the dog starts having a divine quality to it. Maybe the dog is a little bit upside-down, but still the dog is god -- just written wrongly, that's all. You have to read it the other way, otherwise there is no difference. And then everything starts having a new message, a new feel, a new splendor.
When the whole is transformed through your witnessing it becomes fragrant. There is no flower but there is immense fragrance. You have entered into the unmanifest.