Up until this time there was an object in front of us. Now there is no object. It is difficult to say what the object is and where the subject stands. Wherever the idea of space tries to introduce itself, creating a difference between us and the object, we have to try to separate the spatial content of the object from the object itself. This amounts to our identification with the object. Space yields itself to our minds only when we think only in terms of our unitive self, and not at any other time. Wherever there is an objective thought, by definition space must be there. However, when we think only in terms of our unitive self, there is no need for space because we are a non-spatial something. We cannot then regard ourselves as a spatial consciousness. Consciousness cannot be limited to space as it is not an extended something, and therefore it is also not in time. We cannot say in this case that we are ‘some-where’ or ‘some-when’. We do not know what kind of state our essential being is. The identification of the form of the object with the consciousness of the subject happens when the distinction between the object and the thinker gets abolished in the freedom of the object from space and time. The moment there is a coming together, a uniting of the form of the object with the thinking consciousness, there is the freedom of consciousness from the shackles of objects. Immediately there is an exuberance, a thrill and a joy which come not by the possession of things, but by the identification of the object with the subject.

It is different from sensory joy or sensory satisfaction, because here the senses cannot work because of the absence of space and time. The joy that comes as a content of experience here is not the result of the senses contacting objects, but the result of the object merging into the subjective consciousness, or the consciousness getting identified with the object. There is nothing else for the consciousness to do. This is the ananda or the joy that comes of its own accord, manifesting itself from within rather than from without—and not by contact, but rather by a non-contact of consciousness. In this circumstance, ordinary meditation ceases. We are no more contemplating, because the usual thought process of the mind ceases. There is no process, as a matter of fact, because again all process is spatio-temporal, and as there is no space and time here, process also cannot be there. When there is no process, there is practically no mind, because all mind is process.

There is only what the yoga psychology calls ‘sattva’, which is pure reality manifesting itself freed from rajas and tamas. What is called ‘ananda’ or joy here in this experience is the ananda of sattvaguna—the property of perfect transparency. This is also called ‘higher mind’ many a times. What we call the pure reason or the higher mind is the sattva in the mind. When it gets muddled up with rajas and tamas, we think in space and time and in objective awareness. When it is freed from rajas and tamas, we begin to be conscious without being conscious of something.

This is where consciousness tends to realise Being. This is the fifth state which the meditative consciousness reaches, and here consciousness is conscious of itself but not conscious of anything else. There is self-consciousness of a superior kind—not consciousness of an object but pure self-consciousness. Where the joy becomes the content of meditation, we are supposed to be in the fifth state. When even the joy does not anymore remain as an attribute of experience, one has moved still higher to a rarefied level of pure existence, and this is indistinguishable from unmodified self-consciousness where joy and self-consciousness are identical. We are now in the sixth stage of meditation as we are not experiencing joy—we ourselves become joy, and joy becomes conscious of itself. This is self-consciousness of joy, we may say. It is not self-consciousness of a body, a person or an individual—it is joy becoming conscious of itself.

While in the fifth stage it was a ‘someone’ experiencing joy, in the sixth stage it is joy experiencing joy. This state is indistinguishable from the consciousness of joy, ananda and chaitanya (absolute consciousness)—as all of these are one. Here we are on the verge of transcending the barrier of individuality, having risen gradually from the physical and related external object, gradually higher up through the layers of the subtle internal content of the object, and higher still to the joy accruing from the freedom of the subject from having to contemplate the object in an external relation, and finally to pure joy alone.

This is not a joy that any human being can experience in the world. It is impossible to explain it, and nobody can write about it. It is not the happiness that we speak of in ordinary life. Happiness is an emotional condition, but here we are not in a state of emotion. This joy is not a condition of the mind. It is not any kind of condition at all, because it is Being manifesting itself. It is therefore not an intellectual joy or an emotional satisfaction or the satisfaction of the senses. It is not someone being satisfied by something—it is the satisfaction, if we can call it that at all, which arises on account of being totally free from relations of every kind. Bondage is relation, and freedom is actually the divorcing of oneself from all relation.

We cannot usually understand what relation is, and we are likely to mistake our isolated sitting in a room as freedom from all external relations. However, relations are not merely relations to persons, and it need not take the form of a kind of external dependence. The very consciousness of there being a world outside with which we have to deal in some manner is a kind of bondage. When there is a necessity to deal with outward-ness in some way, bondage comes in, but when there is no bondage, there is also no necessity to deal in any manner with objects outside. This is a higher type of freedom where it does not take the form of mere disconnection from existing things outside, but is a freedom which is a realisation of our vital identity with all that was previously thought to be ‘outside’. When we dissociate ourselves from people, we may feel a kind of satisfaction due to the solitariness, but this is an artificial kind of joy. A higher joy is where we associate everything with our self. If we have nothing to do with any person in the world, that will be one kind of freedom. On the other hand, where everything and all persons in the world get so associated with us that we see no distinction between them and ourselves, then that would be a positive kind of joy.

This ananda or joy that manifests itself in this meditation is not the consequence of exclusion of the object from the subjective consciousness, but an inclusion in the subject of all the content of the object. The meditative consciousness enters into the content of the object, and at least here in the sixth stage of meditation we cannot say whether the subject is meditating or the object is meditating. Who is the subject and who is the object? It is impossible to say here, because there is absolutely no differentiating characteristic between the subject and the object. Consciousness begins to throb equally in the subject and in the object. While ordinarily we think the object to be a material something that is external to us, in this stage of meditation the consciousness manifests itself equally in the object. The object will begin to shine intellectually and spiritually as our own personality shines. There is a kinship of the subject with the object, with the kinship getting so intense that one will collide with the other and become one. In this oneness of the subjective and the objective essences, each one is equally good. This is the threshold of universal meditation. These are all great secrets of yoga and subtleties of meditation which must be taught by a competent teacher with proper consideration of the level of the initiated seeker. The initiation should be only into that level of meditation which is existent in the mind of the particular person.

Hence, there are stages of initiation comparable with the stages of meditation. We cannot be initiated into a level higher than where our minds are. Otherwise, we would find it hard to catch or grab the object. The object and the subject should be on the same level of reality, and only then can there be a comparison, an association of ideas, and an appreciation of values. Thus, this totality of six types of meditation is called by Patanjali ‘qualitative meditation’. This means qualitative not in the sense of some quality inherent in some object, like colour, size or shape, but qualitative in the sense that there is the residue of self-consciousness together with a faint memory of the processes through which the mind has passed. Memory of the past is retained, and this memory acts as a kind of attribute to the experiencing consciousness. That is why it is called ‘attributive’ or ‘qualitative’ meditation in a very large and wide sense of the term.

When pure self-consciousness becomes the content of experience, which is joy manifesting itself, the quality that seems to be associated with this consciousness is universal happiness or universal joy that seems to reveal itself through every nook and corner of the world. Light will start blazing forth through every atom of the world, and it will seem that there are suns everywhere—not merely in one part of the sky. Everywhere there are suns resplendent and shining! Every particle of matter will begin to shine through consciousness like the sun. This shining is not physical light, but intelligence revealing itself—commingled with joy at the same time. This is why it is called a universal meditation, where consciousness contemplates itself as a universal reality.

Man becomes at this point a superman, and we can almost say that the mortal has become the immortal. We will laugh at death in this state of mind, and all bondage and relationships that seem to annoy and disturb us become an integral part of ourselves in such a manner that they are no longer mere relations or parts. They are our own spread-out limbs as it were. It is difficult to say what it actually means to have one’s consciousness spread out. Scriptures describe this condition metaphorically, but all descriptions of this state remain purely metaphorical, and it is in the end impossible to describe it. In the Srimad Bhagavad Gita and the Upanishads for example, we have descriptions of this condition, but all are symbolic descriptions. The description are magnificent and grand, but they are all descriptions employing deficient human language, and they naturally have to be limited. We have the description of this in the eleventh chapter of the Srimad Bhagavad Gita and in the Brihadaranyaka and the Chhandogya Upanishads. The experiences of the mystics corroborate these profundities described in the scriptures. These are all matters which should not be argued about intellectually, because they are experiences that one must have for oneself. They are described tentatively in the scriptures as a kind of encouragement to us about what is going to happen to us and what is going to come to us. Otherwise, they have no practical value when they are merely heard or read about.

All practical meditation which is accessible to the normal way of thinking ends with the first two stages. It is difficult to go beyond that. All our efforts will generally end only here in the first two stages of meditation, and whatever happiness we may seem to have in meditation is only the outcome of the first two stages. It is very rare that people go beyond these stages. Though the meditator may think that he has had some direct experience of God in the first two levels, it is probably not true, as it is difficult to see God so easily! Spiritual experiences are, at least in the higher levels, inaccessible to the thinking mind. Most people think in meditation, and the thinking process is hardly ever outgrown. Most of us think only in an ordinary way, but this is not what meditation is. It is not thinking with external and internal relations. If our second stage of meditation is to be perfect, we have to be able to think the object independently and without relations. This itself is a great achievement. It is a great thing to succeed even in the second stage of meditation. As we ascend to the higher stages, our own personal effort becomes less and less necessary. The need to exert is only necessary until we reach the second stage, and afterwards we need not exert so much.

Afterwards we are taken—instead of our going, we will be taken. In certain of the Upanishads, we are told that someone will take us by the hand and show us the way, although we are not told who or what will come. We are given a tremendous encouragement by this sort of idea. Once that stage is reached, we will not be in the position to know where to go. Everything will look all right, but we are not sure in which direction we should move, as we could move in any direction at all. Then at some higher level of experience, a superhuman being will come, says the Chhandogya Upanishad. The opinion of some teachers is that this superhuman being mentioned in the Upanishad is the guru, who takes us by the hand in the proper direction. Some others think it is God Himself coming in a particular form. It matters little to us who it is. If the guru comes, it is not in any way less than an incarnation of God. These are all encouragements, as I have said, but they do not yet manifest when we are in a lower stage.

The effort that we have to put forth in the initial stages is large enough even to terrify a strong mind. If we read the lives of saints, that will give us an idea as to the difficulties of the path. The joy comes, no doubt, but the joy is very costly. We have to pay a heavy price for it, and we cannot so blithely say that we want the joy and the milk and honey. We have to plough the field, and likewise we have to tend this spiritual spark and nurture it with great affection—just as we presently take care of our bodies. We must see that this spiritual realisation grows healthily and blossoms to perfection. Then it is that the joy comes.

While the fruit is magnificent, the price is also terrifying when we think of it. Many do not want to take to this task, and many cannot take to it because of the price that must be paid. Most people want cheap realisation, but this is not possible. This seems to be the unfortunate thing about all exquisite things in the world and especially with yoga—we seem to not have the ability to pay the price. What is the price that we have to pay? It is not money that we have to pay. What we need is a whole-heartedness of approach and a correct understanding of the path. Can we pay this price, if God is our goal of realisation? God wants nothing from us. He has enough already, and He doesn’t need any gifts from us! There is no need of being afraid and saying that, “I have to pay so high a price, and I have to give so many things to God.” He wants nothing from us, because He is rich enough already! What He needs is us! The Absolute, which is the final objective of yogic realisation, needs nothing from us—He needs us and nothing else.

While it is difficult to understand what this surrender means, if we thought it were possible to do it, we might then find it easier to actually offer ourselves. Can we not offer ourselves? We are not asked to offer anything from the outside world. As a matter of fact, these things are of no use. The outside world does not belong to us; therefore we cannot offer it as a bribe. We have to give the price of our own selves—which is the whole art of yoga. Yoga is a gradual transcending of ourselves, which is the offering up of ourselves to the Absolute and the realisation of a larger and larger reality of our own personality. While from one side it may look like the offering up of ourselves, from another side it is a regaining of ourselves in a larger and larger avenue of being. If we aspire to live the eternal life, we have to die to this mortal self. This is the instruction of all saints: “Die to live,” to put it bluntly. If we want to live, we have to die for it. Die to the mortal, die to the personal, die to the individual, die to the relational, die to the particular, and die to the external in order that we may enter into our own Self as an eternal Being. Empirically speaking it may look like a loss, but really it is a gain. Every gain in the realm of the spirit involves a so-called loss in the world of nature. It is very unpleasant in the beginning, but enthralling and enrapturing in the later stages. We may even cry in the beginning, but then afterwards we will be flooded with joy.

We have to be prepared to pay this little price. It may look like a big price for us because we seem to have to lose ourselves, but we are not going to lose ourselves. We are going to find ourselves. How is it that we have lost ourselves? It is by this meandering in this world of objects. Coming to God is like waking up to a wider reality which comes through the ascent of the rungs of the ladder of yoga. We may call it either an ascent to the heights or a fathoming of the greatest depths of life—we may call it by any name that we like. It is like an entering into, or an expansion into the Infinite—both ultimately mean the same thing. This experience therefore is the outcome of the six stages of meditation described in Patanjali’s text. Whatever be the number of stages described in the texts, the succeeding one differs from the preceding or the earlier stage only in its larger freedom from relations of every kind. This is how the higher stage differs from the lower stage. As we proceed to the higher stages, the relations with the external get lessened and lessened. One stands more and more independently and in a more profound sense. Ultimately, one stands absolutely independent in the sense that there is nothing external. To this end, these stages of meditation lead us.