Drg Drsya Viveka Lecture 02
Dṛk-Dṛśya Viveka: Discrimination Between the Seer and the Seen
The Primacy of the Seer
So, we are studying Dṛk-Dṛśya Viveka, the discrimination between the seer and the seen. There is only one seer; everything else is seen. Which is the most important among these two? The seer.
Why? Because the seen can never exist without the seer. But the seer always exists even without any seeing. Now when we are having this interaction, what is the purpose of this book? The first purpose is to be able to see the seen in such a way that it will not create any problems. Second, if we can really see something as it is in its true nature, then we understand the subject-object differentiation itself is a false differentiation — false differentiation because it is the subject alone that, under certain circumstances, appears as the seen.
Now I will just elaborate slightly on this point.
The Dream Analogy and the Nature of Creation
As you see, when we give the example of the dream, we clearly understand that after waking up, whatever we have seen in the dream is nothing but the subject divided into two — the seer and the seen, the subject and object, the knower and the known. How do we know? It is our everyday experience. When you go to bed, you are the only one, and all the things you see in your dream are your own creations. Now you understand the meaning of creation better. You have become so many; the one has become so many — even though, how can the one become many? It is not possible. It is a way of looking into oneself, that's all. It has not really become.
This is the point Advaita Vedānta wants to make.
Pariṇāmavāda and Vivartavāda
If you ask the question, how did God create? — now there are two views. One is called Pariṇāmavāda, another is called Vivartavāda. If God has created as you make many things out of wood or any element, any material, then actually the wood has acquired a special quality called nāma and rūpa. In that case, the original wood has become transformed, and so the original wood no longer exists. That is the dualistic school's view. But Advaita Vedānta doesn't accept that view.
Its view is called Vivartavāda — as though transformed, not transformed; as though transformed. The classic example: the rope appears to be a snake, but the rope had never become the snake — neither in the past, nor in the present, nor in the future. So that is the example taken.
Just as in your dream you see so many things, you yourself look at yourself in so many ways, but when you wake up, what happens? When you go to bed, you the one has become many; when you wake up, the many of the dream has remained exactly the same. So we understand this, but we don't understand how things in the waking state — so many millions of things — are just one. Because there is a condition: to understand that a dream is a dream, you have to wake up. Similarly, to understand that this waking world is also just like a dream state, you have to wake up.
Turīya Avasthā: The Fourth State
That state is called the fourth state, or Turīya Avasthā. Now this Turīya Avasthā is not a fourth state — you have to clearly understand this. It is not a fourth state, because whatever was existing in all the three states, it is only one. What is the common thing among all the three states? What is the "I"? I am in the waking state, I am in the dream state, I am in the dreamless state. That accepting "I" — everything else is change. That changeless "I," which is present in all the three states and because of which all the three states become real — that is called the Turīya. That is also called Sākṣī.
But even this Sākṣī Bhāva is ultimately a false entity, because a Sākṣī is a function, and any function falls under the Tripuṭī. There is one who has to do the action, there is an object upon which this action is done, and there is a process through which this action is done. So even that is a kind of bondage.
The Goal: Step by Step
So what is the goal? The goal is: first, find what is the Dṛśya, and find out who is the Dṛk — that is the first layer. The second layer is that the Dṛk, which is seen, becomes the seen in the second state, and something else becomes the Dṛk. And in the third state, that Dṛk becomes seen and the Sākṣī becomes the Dṛk. In the last state, when all these things fall away, then only one remains — then Sākṣī Bhāva is also completely lost. He cannot be called even Dṛk. That is the goal, and how we have to reach it step by step.
The first thing is: before you undertake any action, the first thing you have to ask is, what is the goal of this action? So here, according to this text, what is the goal? Separation — that I am not the seen. If I am not the seen, then I must be only the seer.
What does it mean? It means, first of all, I have no connection with the seen. There are certain qualities to be developed. What are they?
The seen is dependent; the seer is independent — that is the first one. Second, the seen comes and goes, but the seer remains constant. The seen are many; the seer is one, completely one. The seen can be anywhere; the seer is everywhere, always, because it is infinite.
So all these kinds of differences, when we contemplate — whatever happens in the seen will be interpreted only in one way: "I have nothing to do," because these are completely opposite conditions. The seen are many; the seer is one. The seen can be anywhere, and the seer is only everywhere. The seen is constantly changing, but the seer is never changing. If that is true, where is the place for being affected by the seen?
But what is our practical life? We are slaves of the seen, that is all.
Nāma, Rūpa, and Prayojana
If an object is nicely dressed, then I feel it is beautiful. If it is not dressed properly, I feel — what has the dress got to do with beauty? So if your attraction is for the dress, then you take the dress and go away, leave the object there. That means we have become slaves to nāma, rūpa, and function. Three things we have to remember: nāma, rūpa, and prayojana.
Any object's worth is ultimately judged by only one value. What is that value? Prayojana — functionality. Only function. Here is a very nice sweet, here is not such a nice sweet. What is our judgment? A sweet is a sweet, but how are we judging? Functionality. What is the ultimate functionality of everything in this world? Only one thing: happiness.
Sat, Cit, and Ānanda
And when we utter that word "happiness," we have to understand it in three ways — sat, cit, and ānanda — because if you use exclusively the word "happiness," suppose somebody says, "You eat this sweet; after that I will shoot you." The sweet is very nice, it gives me happiness, but if that is the condition — if you eat the sweet you will be happy, but afterwards I will shoot you — then what comes first? My survival. I want unhappiness, even if it is unhappiness, provided I am alive. That is the first preference: sat.
Not only that — cit is also very important. It is beautifully arranged in that way. Cit is what connects sat and ānanda. If I have to be happy, first I have to be alive, and if I have to be happy, I must know that I am happy. So all three go together.
So now our problem is, we are not able to understand this — that is our real problem. Tritāpa comes because of this. What is the problem? We all are looking for one aspect, which is ānanda. That is why we are ignoring the sat and cit parts. So if somebody is eating a lot of sweets, what is he doing? He is paying more attention to the ānanda part; he is not paying attention to the sat and cit parts.
Everything has to be in right proportion; all three must be in right proportion. Look at this: suppose there is nice food — it really creates happiness — but if you eat until this time, what happens to the cit aspect? People fall asleep. So what does that mean? Every mother makes this mistake: she wants her son to eat and afterwards study. You know what happens. So the wise thing is: first finish studying, then I will feed you. Because after eating, there is no space for anything.
So sat, cit, and ānanda always go together, but the emphasis can be different. So you have to be very careful in understanding that.
The Master and the Slave: Attitude and Understanding
Now the separation from the Dṛk and Dṛśya — seer and seen — helps us control: who is the master? So I decide to be happy. Now, in the morning we discussed an important point. What is it? Our happiness or unhappiness are directly dependent upon our attitude. Attitude facilitates interpretation, but attitude itself is the effect. And if that is the effect, what is the cause? Understanding. So the understanding must be right. This book tries to give us that understanding — that you are the master, you are not a slave.
Now you understand that, and try to put it into practice. All austerities are meant only for one purpose: to become independent. Suppose Ekādaśī day, somebody prepares nice food. It doesn't matter; it may be prepared like a heavenly cook — by eating who is cooking, you don't have it! — so that is, there are so many words we use without understanding. "Dream girl," for example. A man in the waking state falls in love with a dream girl, then he marries the girl, but it remains a dream — because a dream girl can be married only in dreams. That is the fact.
Karma Yoga: The Three Perfections
So how to turn the Dṛśya into something that is useful for me? It must facilitate, it must help me. I should not try to help it. Trying to improve any Dṛśya is perpetuating delusions. That is why Karma Yoga — when we say Yoga, it means you are a Yogī. If you are a Yogī, who is the master? The others are not Yogīs. Anyone who performs a karma is a karmī. But a Yogī, when he performs karma, becomes a Karma Yogī. What does that mean? It doesn't mean that he doesn't expect anything; it doesn't even mean that he doesn't do things properly.
A Karma Yogī does three things absolutely to perfection. What are they? First, he desires to do the right thing. Secondly, he does it to the utmost perfection. Thirdly, he says, "Whatever be the outcome, I won't be affected by it. I will be happy whatever be the outcome." That is called non-expectation.
In our usual understanding, non-expectation means: if I do some action, I don't expect a result. But it is foolishness to say that you do karma and it doesn't produce an effect. See, if you produce any cause, it must produce an effect. But what is the difference? A karmī is affected by the effect, whereas a Yogī remains constant — not that he is not affected, but he has already affected himself. What is the effect? He has decided even before doing karma: "I will be a very happy person whatever be the outcome." So he is a happy person. If the result is what you call good, he is happy. If the result is not good, he is quite happy. "Whatever happens," he says, "I am happy." That is called Yoga.
Cittavṛtti Nirodha: The True Meaning
That is why the definition of Yoga — what does it mean? It doesn't mean separation of thoughts; it means you remain. That is why the second — no, the third verse, the third sūtra — what does it say? So what happens when the mind, thought waves are controlled? He remains as a Dṛk. Draṣṭṛ svarūpe avasthānam — he remains just as a seer. Let hundreds of thousands of thoughts arise in his mind, but he will make only one meaning out of it. Every thought produces only one meaning for him: "You are happy, you are happy, you are happy." That is the only thought that arises in his mind. That is called draṣṭṛ svarūpe avasthānam.
So this is the meaning of cittavṛtti nirodha. Otherwise everybody says he is not having any thought waves. If that definition is taken, what is wrong? What happens? In your deep sleep all the cittavṛttis are completely out, then you should have been draṣṭṛ svarūpe avasthānam. When you wake up, you should have been a jīvanmukta. But you are not. Why? Because there is one thought — very subtle, one thought in its causal form. That is why it is called kāraṇa śarīra — causal form. What is that thought? "I do not know anything." Yes, you do not know anything bad, but neither do you know anything good. Since you don't know either good or bad, it gives you a good amount of happiness at that time. So it is a negative type of happiness.
Negative and Positive Happiness
Happiness is of two types: negative and positive. What is negative happiness? Not having any trouble is negative happiness. Suppose you are returning home and nothing happened — your car worked properly, your boss worked properly, your colleagues worked properly, nobody created any disturbance. So your mind is not agitated too much, and you feel a kind of happiness. Is that real happiness? No.
How do we know? Suppose you come home and suddenly there is a phone call that you have won a million-dollar lottery. What would be the state of your mind? That is called positive happiness. Negative happiness is: nothing bad happened, so it produces one kind of happiness. But when you hear good news, you get so much happiness.
So what is the good news for a jīvanmukta? Not only has he nothing negative, but he has everything positive, because he has won the whole universe. "This is mine. Why is it mine? Because I have created it."
The Joy of Creation
When you create something, even a negative thing gives positive happiness. You have to understand this. If you are not the creator, the slightest negative thought or event creates tremendous misery in your mind. When you ask "why did this happen?" you are acknowledging that you are not the author. Otherwise you would never ask.
Now, if you know that you are the creator, even the worst character that you create gives the greatest happiness. The example given is: suppose you write a drama. In the drama you create one of the worst types of characters. Imagine the conversations you put through that worst character are the best conversations in that particular drama, and the fellow who acted that character is the best actor. And suppose the fellow who directs, the fellow who acts, and the script writer are all the same one person. That year, that drama won the highest awards — best direction, best screenplay, best acting, best script writing — all given to one person alone. Just imagine what happiness that fellow gets.
We are not talking about good characters — that is my point. When you are the creator, whether it is Yudhiṣṭhira's character or Duryodhana's character, your creativity, whatever you create, gives you the greatest happiness. That is called creative happiness.
Questioner: Mahārāj, does the fear of a second also add to that happiness, because there is no second — you are only creating?
Mahārāj: No. When you ask that question, the moment you say "fear of the second," you have forgotten that you have created yourself, because that is how you know. Sometimes you get up from bed suddenly, and your shadow is looming, very frightening. So why does that happen? Until you realize, "This is my shadow."
Actually, in Karma Siddhānta, we are all the shadows of our original creation. We are the authors of our — if you accept Karma Siddhānta — our bodies, our minds. Who created? We don't accept this. We are the creators. So nobody can be found at fault. You cannot even find fault with God.
Īśvara Sṛṣṭi and Jīva Sṛṣṭi
So if we know that we are the masters, the Dṛśya is our creation — in both senses. Not only Īśvara Sṛṣṭi, but also Jīva Sṛṣṭi. But the first thing we have to tackle is Jīva Sṛṣṭi, because that is our interpretation. When once you know the whole thing is a Dṛśya, that means I am the Dṛk — which means what? I am the creator of Dṛśya. If there is what is called the seen and he is the seer, then who is the creator of that seen? It is the seer. And if the seer is the creator, then you cannot even bring the idea of God.
Questioner: Sir, is there anything called Īśvara Sṛṣṭi? Because it looks like what you are saying is: I am the one who has created everything, so because I cannot put any reason behind why it is, we say it is Īśvara Sṛṣṭi.
Mahārāj: As long as we are in the realm of ignorance, Īśvara Sṛṣṭi is absolutely real.
Let me again give the example of the dream. When you are dreaming, whatever you are seeing — is it Īśvara Sṛṣṭi or your sṛṣṭi? When you are in the dream, it is Īśvara Sṛṣṭi — God's creation. But when you wake up, then you understand that it is all your own creation.
So, step by step: so long as we think "this is not my creation," then we have to say it is somebody else's creation. Because it is the effect, and every effect must have a cause — and therefore it is God's creation.
So what is God's creation? Whatever is experienced through the sense organs is God's creation. But whatever the sense organs convey — after they convey, however the mind perceives it — is called Jīva Sṛṣṭi, because the sense organs do not have the intelligence to alter. They are just like a pure mirror.
The Mirror and the Cataract
Imagine you are standing in front of a mirror, but imagine you have a cataract. There is nothing wrong with the mirror, but something is wrong with our way of looking. So first, if the mirror is dirty, you have to clean it. Second, you have to get rid of — instead of a cataract, you can imagine a black-coloured glass, a yellow-coloured glass, whichever coloured glass — that is the understanding.
So even from a very practical point of view, it is very important for us to understand this: much depends upon us for our own happiness. That is the first lesson we have to learn. Whatever be the circumstances, how do I take it, how do I interpret it — that is where our freedom lies. Until we go to the highest sense, our freedom is only with our mind, with interpretation. So long as we are in the waking state and dream state, our freedom is only in how much we can control our own mind, because we don't have much freedom about the external world.
Questioner: Mahārāj, how do you develop the right understanding then?
Mahārāj: First, somebody tells us: "Look, you have some control over yourself, so take advantage of whatever lies within your control." That's why Śrī Ādi Mahārāj used to say about food: "Quality is not yours, it is not in your control. What is in your control? Quantity is in your control." So I cannot control the quality, but I can control the quantity — that is where first somebody comes and tells: "Everything is not lost; you have some control." But what a big control it is! In the beginning you don't even believe it, but in the end you will go like the goldfish — slowly, slowly: "I have some control... I have some control... I have better control." Step by step we have to go through.
The Three Seers and Three Scenes
So morning also I told — there are three seers, and naturally there should be three scenes. One scene is the absolute scene, one seer is the absolute seer, and two seers are mixtures — by turns both the seer and also the scene.
There is the external world — and the sense organs are the masters, because they become the seers and whatever is seen is their object. But the mind is seeing what the sense organs are doing — therefore the mind is the seer and the sense organ becomes the scene. So the mind in its turn is witnessed — so the mind is both the seer and the scene, and the sense organs are also both the seer and the scene. The world is only the seen; it is never a seer. And the Sākṣī is only the seer; it is never the scene.
So these points he wants to make clear in the next few verses.
First Verse: Rūpam Dṛśyam Locanaṃ Dṛk
Rūpam dṛśyam, locanaṃ dṛk; tad dṛśyaṃ, dṛk mānasaṃ tu dṛk; dṛśyāḥ dhī-vṛttayaḥ; sākṣī dṛk eva na tu dṛśyate.
He has enlightened us: rūpam dṛśyam — rūpam means whatever is seen, whatever is experienced. Here "I" doesn't mean only this "I" — it means all the five sense organs: śabda, sparśa, rūpa, rasa, gandha. So rūpam dṛśyam — whatever is seen is called rūpam; whatever is experienced is called dṛśya. Then who is the seer? Locanaṃ dṛk — locana means the eye; and by the eye is meant all the five sense organs. They are all the sense organs. So that is the first verse.
Then he says: tad dṛśyam — the sense organ becomes in its turn the dṛśya, the seen. Dṛk mānasam tu dṛk — the mind becomes the seer of the sense organs. So by extension, the mind becomes also the seer of rūpam and also of the sense organs, though not directly. The mind cannot see a physical object directly; the mind can only experience a mental object, never a physical object. To experience something external, it needs an instrument. We have to keep that in mind.
So dṛśyāḥ dhī-vṛttayaḥ — dhī means intellect or mind, whatever you call it; vṛttayaḥ means whatever thoughts, whatever vṛttis — vṛtti is the singular, vṛttau is the dual, vṛttayaḥ is the plural. Whatever vṛttis — vṛtti means any mental modification. It could be a thought, it could be an emotion, it could be an imagination, it could be a feeling like fear or happiness. Any modification falls under the category of vṛtti — mental modification, changes in the mind.
Now this author also classifies the mind into two categories: the mind and the thoughts. There is a state of mind without any content. The original format of the mind, and the effects it goes through. The example given: there is perfect water in a lake — completely still. That is Patañjali's definition. Now if a wind arises — not to speak of a hurricane and all that — the surface of the water breaks into several types: it could be waves, it could be bubbles, it could be foam, varieties. But all these things are based upon the water only. What is constant? The water is constant. The entire water doesn't break into waves; the majority remains completely as water, and a small part of it is transformed into waves, bubbles, and all those things. In a similar way, here it is the mind. In the mind there is something called pure mind. That is why Śrī Rāmakṛṣṇa says: pure mind and pure Ātman are one and the same. That is what Patañjali Ṛṣi also says: when the mind is completely tranquil, without the least bit of vṛttis.
The Transmission of Knowledge
Why do we say — after all, the mind also is external to the Ātman — we are talking about conveying an idea. The moment you convey an idea, you have to bring the concept of mind. It is a transference of idea from the teacher to the student. For that purpose you need to experience something — you don't need anything — but to convey that experience, you need a medium. That medium is called, in this case, the mind. And a part of that mind becomes transformed into a vṛtti.
So it is these vṛttis we are observing. When I am talking, it is creating a vṛtti. To talk, I must have a thought, and that thought has been created out of my mind-stuff. This thought goes out from me in the form of śabda — sound — and that śabda enters into your ears as śabda, into your ear canal, and that śabda is carried through the sense organ called hearing to your mind, and there it becomes transformed into a similar vṛtti — hopefully. Because if it is transformed into a different kind of vṛtti, there are problems.
Like the Chinese patient story: one man went to a hospital to see someone who was admitted there. By the side of the person known to him, there was also a Chinese patient lying. Feeling sympathetic, he went to the next man and with a smiling face said, "How are you? I am so sorry." That fellow had his face all covered and started shouting something. But this man of course couldn't understand Chinese language, so he was thinking the fellow was thanking him. "No, no, don't thank me, this is my goodness." Within a few minutes that fellow expired. After ten years, the man went to China and he still remembered the words. When he asked what they meant, somebody explained: "Get off my oxygen tube." He had been standing on the oxygen tube and uttering words of condolence.
So appropriate vṛttis have to be produced in the listener's mind. How could they be produced? That is why sādhanā catuṣṭaya sampatti creates a fit, receptive state of the mind.
Citta: The Repository of Memory
Now, dhī means mind or intellect — what we call antaḥkaraṇa. This antaḥkaraṇa is, by Patañjali, called citta. But by citta he means what we call in English the entire mind — not the division: manas, buddhi, citta, and ahaṃkāra. All the four faculties put together. But important among them is citta, because it is the citta which is the repository of memory. Therefore all our interactions are dependent upon our citta. The buddhi, the manas, and the ahaṃkāra cannot function if the citta is not functioning properly, if memory is not functioning properly.
You may have a super-fast computer, but every computer depends for its function on only one important element — RAM. Upon RAM. If there is no RAM — citta is like that. It is both the hard disc and the RAM combined together. It keeps, and it also works in real time. It is God's finest invention.
So this is dhī-vṛttayaḥ — so many types of thoughts arise in our mind. When the mind is entertaining these varieties of thoughts, then it becomes the seen — an object, the known. And who is the knower? The Sākṣī. All the vṛttis arising in the dhī are called dṛśya. But who is the Dṛk? The Sākṣī — sākṣī dṛk eva na tu dṛśyate — the Dṛk is never seen by somebody. Why? It creates a logical fallacy: if the Dṛk is seen, there must be some other Dṛk. If that Dṛk also is seen, then some other seer is necessary. So there must be a final seer who is only a seer, who is never seen — and that is why the text uses the word Sākṣī at the very beginning. That Sākṣī is the ultimate seer; he is not at all seen by somebody.
The Illuminating Light: Self-Revelation
Now, take the example of a room in complete, total darkness. If you come from outside and open the door — it is totally dark, there is someone inside, but you cannot see him, you cannot see the sofa. That means you have no knowledge of what is in this room. Then you put on the switch; the light comes on. What is the function of the light? It reveals whatever object is there in this room. That means an object cannot reveal itself — some other thing is necessary to reveal it.
But suppose there is a light inherently in this room. Where there is light there is no darkness, and you can see everything. Now you enter the room and you see so many things. Somebody asks you: what do you see? "I see the chair." But nobody is talking about the light. That is the mistake we commit: without light nothing can be revealed, but we never count the light. We only count what is revealed by the light. And that is what is happening here.
Without the Dṛk — why does the final Dṛk not need somebody to illuminate it? Because the Dṛk himself is self-illuminating. Therefore he doesn't need another thing. To reveal something which cannot reveal itself, we need the help of something else. But that which can reveal — that doesn't itself need any other thing.
The Sense Organs: Borrowed Seeing Power
Now, when we say the sense organ is the seer and the world is the scene — that means the sense organ must have the capacity to reveal what is seen. But there are two problems. One problem: if it is the seer, if it has the capacity to see, then there would be too many seers — the sense organs are one seer, the mind is another seer, and the Ātman is another seer. But the real revealing power belongs only to one.
So if the sense organs become seers by chance — that means they have somehow got revealing power. If they have revealing power, and if that revealing power doesn't belong to them — what is the conclusion? It means they borrowed the seeing power from something else.
For example: in deep sleep, the sense organs are fully functional — and many times over, the eye is fully open — but the revealing power has gone somewhere else. In two ways: one is when the mind wanders, it has gone off somewhere; the other is when it goes to sleep. That means — anything which has its nature can never depart. Whatever comes and goes doesn't belong to it by nature. Whatever is ours will never go at any time. Whatever is not ours, even if it is there for a billion years with us — a time will come when it passes. So this is the simple fact.
So who is lending the revealing power to the sense organs? The mind. But the mind also, if it has its own revealing power, is also borrowing constantly — in the waking state it borrows one way, in the dream state it borrows another way, but in deep sleep it stops borrowing. That is why since it doesn't have it then, it cannot lend it either — and that is why the sense organs are functional in deep sleep but cannot do anything, because the mind is not lending its power.
Second Verse: Variations in the Seen, Unity in the Seer
The forms or objects of perception appear as various on account of such distinctions as blue, yellow, gross, subtle, short, long, etc. There are many varieties. The eye, on the other hand, sees all of them, itself remaining one and the same. All of you are here — so many people — yet how many eyes have I? Not one eye for each one of you. I have only one set of eyes perceiving men, women, young, old, and all those different colours and all those things.
What is the idea? The Dṛk is always one; the seer is always one. But the seen can be any number. And because they are any number, there will be variations, because how do you know any number? To distinguish two things, there must be some differentiation.
Any distinction — this is this, this is not this — falls into three categories: Svagata Bheda, Svajātīya Bheda, and Vijātīya Bheda.
To give an example with an apple tree: this apple tree has a lot of internal differentiation — this is the root, this is the trunk, these are the branches, these are the leaves, these are the blossoms, these are the fruits. You can clearly distinguish. This is called Svagata Bheda — differentiation within itself. Then Svajātīya Bheda: there is another apple tree, and this apple tree is on this side, that apple tree is on the other side. This is smaller, that is bigger. This has fewer fruits, that has more fruits, etc. This is the difference between two of the same species. A third is called Vijātīya Bheda: there is a mango tree and an apple tree. The mango tree belongs to a totally different species.
Now, any difference you perceive must fall within these three categories. There is no exception to it.
Questioner: Mahārāj, are these three categories like nāma, rūpa, and function?
Mahārāj: That is what all these things are, you know. Take nāma: this is apple tree, that is mango tree — Vijātīya. Two apple trees: this is smaller, that is bigger — Svajātīya. Then rūpa: how do you make names? Depending upon the rūpa. Then function: this has small sweet fruits, that has fruits that are not so sweet — any differentiation you can think of falls under these three categories.
So in this second verse, what he is telling: the sense organ is the seer and whatever it sees is the dṛśya. The dṛśyas can be many — yellow, red, blue, white, black, small, big — any number of varieties are possible. But how many seers? Only one. So that is the important point he is slowly taking up: the seer can only be one; the seen can be many. This discrimination, if we have it, is very beneficial to us. That is called Dṛśya Viveka.
Active Voice and Passive Voice: Master and Slave
So what is happening now? The Dṛk becomes slave to the Dṛśya. Now this is a wonderful point. Every sentence falls into two categories: active voice and passive voice. Passive voice indicates who is being the slave; active voice indicates who is the master.
"I am watching a movie." If someone asks "who is watching this movie?" — "I am watching the movie." That means: who is the master? "I" am the master. But are you really the master? If the movie is bad, will you watch it? If there is a match between India and America and India is losing, will you still watch?
So if you are not watching — that means that seen is your master. The object says, "I am very nice. Look at me. Come and eat me." That is why it is called ice cream! Do you see the point? We are using active voice, but we unconsciously mean that we are slaves.
Whereas a saint like Śrī Rāmakṛṣṇa — when he says "I eat," he means that he is eating, because he is in charge. He gives a beautiful parable also: two farmers are trying to bring water into the field. The first farmer's wife comes and says, "Enough is enough, you can do it tomorrow." He says, "Okay, I will come. Okay, I will come." What does he mean? You are making me come. Whereas the second one drives away the wife. Śrī Rāmakṛṣṇa says: that is the only way you can have mastery.
So if we have that discrimination — that I am the seer — then whatever be the circumstances, the Dṛk can decide how much time it wants to see, etc. But of course, the indriya itself is never the real master, because it comes to the mind later on — the mind is dictating, because it is borrowing power. And if you lend money to somebody, your bank puts a hundred conditions on you — not only on how you return, but on how you spend the money. So similarly, the mind also puts conditions on the sense organ: "Yes, I permit you to see, but these are the conditions."
Third Verse: The Mind as Seer of the Sense Organs
Saṃkalpādi manasyodhrāg ādi yojatā idam — such characteristics of the eye as blindness, sharpness, or dullness, the mind is able to cognize, because it is a single unity. This also applies to whatever is perceived through ears, skin, etc. That is to say, the mind is becoming the seer and the sense organs are becoming the seen.
Because the mind is able to see: "It is not appearing nicely, it is not tasting nicely." But we do not realize it. The same food cooked every day — say by a mother or a wife — it is the same food. But when we are healthy we enjoy it one way; when our stomach is upset we experience it another way; when we are young we experience it one way; when we are old we experience it another way. But we are not able to say, "Oh, my stomach is now upset, and that is why I am not able to derive the same satisfaction." We go on blaming everybody else. But what should you say? You should say: "Oh mind, oh stomach, now you are upset, and that is why you are not able to derive the same type of satisfaction." If we have that much discrimination, a lot of problems will be solved.
We are always expecting from the world something nice. What is the nature of the world? Sometimes it will bring good things, sometimes bad things. If we are only expecting one type of thing, that is a wrong understanding.
If the mind is a Dṛk and not identified with the experience, then it will be able to say: "Oh, sometimes you are happy, sometimes you are unhappy." So what is the benefit? The world is changing, but that one who is witnessing the world is unchanging. By implication: let the world change a billion times in a billion ways, but my interpretation will remain absolutely the same. If I can have that — and that is the only control we have — then that is called real seership.
When a saint is in samādhi, there is no agitation. But for the aspirants who want to improve themselves, this is very necessary: the seeing that "I am not a slave, I am the master." Dṛk means I am the master — I will interpret the seeing as I like to interpret it. If I want to be happy, I will interpret only as happiness, whatever be the condition. That is why there is a philosophy: "It could be worse." A person who has this philosophy will always enjoy better than other people.
Fourth Verse: Citi and Citta
Now, citi and citta should not be identified. Citta is mind; but citi is cit — sat-cit — consciousness, pure consciousness. That is called citiḥ.
All the mental modifications that are taking place in the mind — a few examples are given here. Kāmaḥ: desire. Saṃkalpaḥ: "I want to do this." Saṃdehaḥ: "Will I be able to do it? Maybe I will, maybe I won't." Doubts. Śraddhā: absolute faith — "It is said by somebody who is truthful; it cannot happen otherwise." Aśraddhā: "I doubt that fellow himself, so I will not have faith in his words." Dhṛtiḥ: the willpower to hold on to whatever we have decided to do. And others — hrīḥ: modesty. Dhīḥ: the capacity to understand, intelligence. Bhīḥ: fear — fear also could be positive or negative. Positive: to recognize a genuine danger and to withdraw from it. Negative: to go on ignoring danger and do something foolhardy.
Hrīḥ also can be two things: too much shyness — there are people who are very, very shy — or modesty in the right amount. If you become too modest, nobody will recognize you. So evam ādīn — others, etc.
Bhāsayet eka sadā citiḥ — consciousness illumines all these things. Because does the mind know all these things are taking place within itself? Whatever thought comes — even a thought of God — does the mind know "I have a thought of God"? What should be there? "I know there is a thought." That "I know" is totally separate from the mind. "I know the mind is witnessing. I know what is happening in the mind." All these "I know, I know, I know" — aham, aham, aham — this is, you could say, the nature of pure consciousness.
So that pure consciousness is present in the sense organ, is present in the mind. What happens? The Sākṣī lends its "I-know-ness" to the mind. The mind borrows it from the Sākṣī and becomes illuminated, and it thinks "I know, I know," not knowing that that "I know" is borrowed. It is like children who come with their mothers. I ask: "Why did you not go to school?" They say, "I don't know." So the mother says, "It's Sunday." They say, "I know, I know! Sunday!" — borrowing the "I-know-ness" from the mother. "When is the school opening?" "I don't know." The mother says, "Tell Swami." "I know, I know! It is opening on 12th September!"
This process goes on and on. So the mind borrows and doesn't acknowledge it. Then the mind says to the sense organ: "I will lend you my I-know-ness." And the sense organ thinks, "I know, I know." That is it. So the sense organ has "I-know-ness," the mind has "I-know-ness," the Sākṣī has "I know" — because that is its nature. It is not borrowed.
Fifth Verse: The Nature of Pure Consciousness
Rūpam vibhāti tathā anyāni; bhāsaika sādhanam vinā.
What is the nature of this consciousness? This consciousness does neither rise nor set. Why doesn't it set? Because it never rises. It doesn't increase, nor does it suffer decay. Being self-luminous, it illumines everything else without any other aid. That means its illuminating power, unlike the others, is never borrowed from anything. Why? It is self-luminous.
The mind also is self-luminous, and the sense organs are also self-luminous — what is the difference? Their luminosity is borrowed. Before borrowing, they didn't have it. After the lending stops, they stop.
Whereas here — it neither rises nor sets, because it is its nature. It is ever itself. It doesn't increase.
The mind can be in three states — depending upon whether it is in full lustre or its dimmest — depending upon its three states: sāttvika, rājasika, and tāmasika. So also the sense organs have the same three qualities. What is sāttvika? When the mind is very alert, the body is in its prime healthy condition, then the sense organ functions in its fullness. When something affects it, its function becomes affected.
When the mind is wandering, however much you are reading — page after page is being turned — how much is entering? Accepting the tale, everything has entered — but no bell rings. A wonderful example: the class is going on; the teacher is talking. One student was looking up and noticed a lizard coming out of the pink tiles. His attention was completely absorbed. The lizard came out and after some time started going back inside. Almost it entered — the tail was about to enter. At that moment the teacher noticed the student. "Hey — how much has entered?" The teacher meant: how much of my teaching has entered into you? But the student understood differently: "Almost it entered — only the tail is outside."
So even the sense organs have their sāttvika, rājasika, tāmasika conditions. A trained musician listens to someone's singing in a totally different way from an ordinary person hearing the same singing. A trained astronomer looks at things in a different way. The classic example: a doctor takes your X-ray, puts it up against a backlit screen. You have the same eyes — maybe the doctor even has thick glasses — but his way of looking at it and your way? He points out: "Do you see this dark space?" And the fellow has no guts to say "I don't see anything" — so he says, "Yes, yes." He sees, but he doesn't understand anything.
A person who is trained is absolutely in control — that is the sāttvika state. A person who knows but whose mind is wandering understands things in a different way. And the tāmasika person — his understanding has already gone to a permanent minimum. So even the sense organs — how much difference there is in how they function. Painters can see things which we could never see.
The Unchanging Witness
What is the point here? The point is that what we call pure consciousness — it is its nature. Its nature is self-illuminating, and also illuminating everything else. Because it is its nature, it has not come at some point of time, so it will not go out at some point of time. It neither increases nor decreases; it ever remains absolutely the same.
Pure consciousness remains full, infinite, pure consciousness. It is one and it doesn't know what change is. All these other things are changes. At some point they come into manifestation, and then they go out of manifestation. Sometimes they increase, sometimes they decrease — all these are called changes.
Now, that is an important logical point: whatever changes does not by itself know that it is changing. To know that "I am changing," there must be somebody else who is unchanging. That unchanging alone can become a witness. What is the meaning of witness? It ever remains an unchanging witness of all the changes that are taking place.
Can There Be an Unchanging Seen?
Now another important point: can there be an unchanging Dṛśya, an unchanging seen? It is never possible. There can be only one thing unchanging — you can call it the seen, you can call it the seer, by whatever name — but it can only be the seer. It can never be the seen. That is the simple truth.
Questioner: Mahārāj, does that mean that the phrase "meditating on the Ātman" doesn't really make any sense?
Mahārāj: It makes sense, because what is meditation? Meditation is first to remove all the other thoughts with one thought. The attempt to keep one thought constantly in the mind is meditation. Now even meditation is never considered the highest state, because there is a division: this is the seer, I am the meditator, and this is the object of meditation. That relationship itself makes the meditator a part of this activity. That is a subtle point which will come later on.
The Sākṣī stage is to take us step by step to a higher state. But when you come to the Sākṣī level, the Sākṣī also has to be totally dissolved. Sākṣī means witness — a witness is a function. Function means there is something else, there is a relationship. And so long as there is a relationship, then the Sākṣī is also in some way conditioned, bound. That has to go — but that is a very high thought.
The Divine Marriage of Seer and Seen
So let us start with this: slowly shift our identity from the seen to the seer, from the witnessed to the witness. And when we are successful in that, then another method will be followed by which even this witnessing nature will be totally dissolved.
So slowly he is leading. What was the question? Can there be an unchanging seen? It is never possible. There can be only one thing unchanging — and it can only be the seer; it can never be the seen.
What is the relationship between the seer and the seen? Now he is only defining what is the seer and what is the seen. Now the relationship. It is wonderful. This divine marriage is going to take place. Why? There is a conjunction. And how can you get a divorce unless you are married? So if you want the joy of divorce, yes...
As I told you in the introduction to this class: when you dream, in the dream you divide yourself into two. But when you realise that it is you only who have also become the seen, then the distinction between the seer and the seen will totally disappear.
Totāpurī and the Completeness of Realisation
But in Totāpurī's case, he was able to separate the seer from the seen, but he was never able to identify the seen with the seer — and that is why his realisation remained incomplete. And a time came — because the Divine Mother was gracious — that he came to Ṭhākur.
What is Ṭhākur's Guru Dakṣiṇā? Making his own Guru's knowledge absolutely complete. What better Guru Dakṣiṇā can anybody give?