Chapter 2: Trusting
I perfectly agree with the Aga. It is stupid that only sinners can enjoy, and saints have to live in prisons called monasteries. They cannot eat, or even if they eat they are not allowed to taste. They cannot listen to beautiful music because it is sensuous. They cannot dance because the origin of dance is in sex; the peacock dances when the peacock wants to make love. They cannot sing because the song is nothing but an expression of sex. The birds sing; they are not reciting the Koran or the Vedas or the Gita. These are love-calls! The flowers bloom - they are not blooming there for you to cut them and take them to the temple to some altar. The flowers are the expression of the sexuality of the plant. If you watch deeply, everything is sensuous, life is sensuous and everything is rooted in sex because life itself is born in sex.
The so-called spiritual person starts eliminating his life. One by one, all things disappear. He is left almost dead. He simply vegetates. I am not for that kind of existence.
My sannyasins have to be yea-sayers, not no-sayers. My sannyasins have to affirm life in its totality, in its multidimensionality, in all its possibilities and richness and variety. My sannyasin has to be rooted in existence, and my sannyasin has to live all the planes of life, from sex to samadhi. If something disappears of its own accord that is another thing, but that is not asceticism. I know a moment comes when your energies start moving into higher planes of being: sex disappears because it is not needed. It is not needed because you are enjoying the same energy on higher planes - not because it is wrong, not because it was something ugly. It is not needed because the same energy is having higher orgasms. Samadhi is the ultimate orgasm, sex is only a glimpse of it.
Sex is a momentary samadhi, and samadhi is eternal sex.
Naturally when you have attained to samadhi sex will disappear, but not that you have to renounce it. If you renounce it, then you are doing something wrong. You go on moving deeper and higher, and whatsoever needs to disappear will disappear. Ultimately all disappears. Only godliness is left, only pure joy is left, uncaused joy is left; but not that you renounce. If you renounce you will never attain to that state.
I have heard.
There was a young man who searched for greater and greater austerities, for he believed that nothing of real value is obtained easily. Finally he located an ancient monastery in the Himalayas whose monks had taken the most severe vows of poverty and austerity. This monastery was on the summit of an awesome mountain peak, and the monks had to climb and descend by hauling themselves up and down the iron chains that were hammered into the mountain-face. No heat was allowed in the monastery, and the monks slept on the cold, stone floors. For sustenance they descended the chains each day to pry up the frozen ground in search of the few lichens that grew there. The remainder of the time they meditated, chanted and made offerings. Now these practices pleased the young man and he requested, and he was granted, permission to remain with them.
The monks’ form of meditation was to contemplate various riddles, and shortly after the young man’s arrival the abbot of the monastery posed this question: “How high is up?” Then he instructed the young man to meditate for one month and return with the answer. It was difficult to think about anything since he was constantly shivering. But the harshness was a challenge to the young man, and after a month had passed he was confident of the answer.