This rule in hell, or whatever we call it, commences with an artificial consciousness of individuality by the stroke dealt upon the individual at the time of this separation. This is the intellect. The reason, the intellect that we speak of, is a refracted consciousness. It is not the original consciousness of the divinity which we were in the beginning, as angels. We cannot easily describe the way in which the intellect works or the reason operates. It is not the original consciousness.

When we think, we are not thinking like angels; otherwise, we would be little gods moving here in this world, but we are not that. A complete topsy-turvy motion takes place when there is a reversal in the order of perception, which happens at the time of the shot-off individual regaining consciousness as a self-existent person, which we are now. We are sparks that have been cut off from the whole, descended from the higher worlds. From Satyaloka, Tapaloka, Janaloka, Maharloka, Svarloka, Bhuvarloka, Bhuloka, we have come to the earth plane—the worst plane conceivable.

Here, we have lost the consciousness of our relation to the whole. No one can imagine that we belong to all things. Even with the farthest stretch of the imagination, this idea does not come to us. We are always separate. But the self-existence of the Supreme Being, which is at the back of each individual, asserts itself in a different way altogether in the egoism of the human being. Egoism is only a topsy-turvy affirmation of this Universal Selfhood. Instead of there being a Universality of the affirmation of Selfhood, there is a physicality of the affirmation of selfhood—an individuality and a terrible isolation felt within oneself, as if the Self is nothing but this body and there is nothing else. This consciousness, which was originally the cause of all things, becomes the effect.

The cause becomes the effect, and the effect becomes the cause. We have shot off from the universal whole and, from the point of view of the whole to which we belonged, we are effects rather than causes because we proceeded from the cause which is the universal whole. Yet, we look upon the universe as if it is an effect, as though it is outside us. That, from where we have come, appears to us as that which is outside us. The world of perception is the original mother of all things. It is not an effect. It is not an object of perception. Rather, we are its objects. The universe may look upon us as effects, shot off from itself as the cause. But, we think the other way round—that we are the subjects, and the world, the universe, everything, is external to us. So, this is a reversal in the order of perception.

The original subject looks as if it is the object, and the object looks like the subject. We are the objects to the Universal Consciousness, and That is the Supreme Subject. This is the reason why the Upanishad says idam sarvam yad ayam atma: All this is the Self. But, this is not our experience. The universe is not a self to us. It is a material content. It is an insentient object outside us, and we are the subjects.

We have created a heaven for ourselves in this world of topsy-turvy experience by creating relationships of various types—firstly with the intellect, the mind, the pranas, the senses, the body, and with every other thing in the world we call social relation. We have come down very, very gradually to this present condition.

Yoga is a reversal of this movement. “Te pratiprasavaheyah suksmah,” says Patanjali in one of his sutras. All problems can be solved by a reversal of the order of the movements of the effects from causes. In the order of creation, the effect proceeded from the cause. We have a series—A, B, C, D, E, F, G—etc., and yoga is a movement in the reverse order. The last item in the scheme of creation is the first thing to be considered in yoga; and the first thing in the order of creation is the last thing that we have to think. The last thing is the condition in which we are involved now, with our attachments and aversions, loves and hatreds, and a conviction that we are living in a material world. The yamas, so-called—ahimsa, satya, asteya, brahmacharya, aparigraha mentioned by Sage Patanjali—constitute a system of discipline by which we weaken our attachment to things and our emotional relationship to the people around us.

It is a hard thing, as everyone knows. We cannot be alone to ourselves even for a few months. We will be like a fish out of water. We will feel wretched if we are absolutely alone somewhere for months together. Try to be alone to yourself for some years, and see what happens to you. Your brain itself may cease to operate. You will not know what is going to happen. There will be an unhappiness that you cannot explain.

This happens because the emotions do not find an outlet of satisfaction. They have been forcefully thrown inside due to the absence of conducive circumstances and suitable objects for their fulfilment. That is the reason why we run about here and there, in all directions, to see that our impulses receive satisfaction. We have a hundred impulses, not one or two—but, basically, there are a few, like ringleaders, which have to be understood. These basic impulses arise on account of a vehement struggle of the individual to maintain itself somehow or other, by hook or by crook. The finite individual does not want to get abolished, because that appears to be the destruction of selfhood. We have planted a kind of self in our own body, and we worship it as the true one. Not merely that—we have gone further, still.

We have many other kinds of self which we love, and we know what each one loves—money and power, the body and its relations, maintenance of the body and all that is necessary to perpetuate it. These are our subtle longings, and no one can gainsay that they are there. They may be visibly there or invisibly there, but they are, nevertheless, there. These have to be transmuted. The sublimation and transmutation of these impulses is a difficult thing. It is like melting our own selves in boiling oil—not possible.

This can be done, slowly, by application of different methods—not one stereotyped method. We should not apply only one method in dealing with our desires, our attachments, our longings, our impulses. As is the nature of the impulse, so is the type of remedy that is to be applied. If you are intelligent enough, you can do it yourself. A good student with a clarified understanding can deal with one’s own self. But, if it is not possible, take the help of a person who is superior, a guide.

When the external attachments cease—which may take years in most cases—and we do not seem to have a strong like or dislike for any outside person or thing, then the internal difficulties will manifest themselves: intense hunger, thirst, and fear of death. These will take possession of us. We know what hunger is, what thirst is, and what insecurity is. When we are in a comfortable society, these problems do not show their heads much. We do not feel ourselves so insecure or harassed by hunger and thirst, because we know very well that we are in an atmosphere of people from whom we can receive support of one kind or the other.

When we sever ourselves from relationships with things, then these impulses react upon us with a rapacious vengeance because the body is the self. If the body is the self, it has to be given its due. The body is hungry, the body is thirsty, and it is afraid of destruction. These are the three difficulties that the body feels, always. Normally, these problems will not arise because we are always in human society with our friends. We never are afraid of death, nor do we think about hunger and thirst, because we are well off in many respects.

But, we should have no friends; nobody should look at us and nobody should speak to us. When we have withdrawn all connection from everything, see what happens. The natural forces which constitute this physical individuality will set up a revolt, and it will appear as if our bodily individuality is getting disintegrated. No one knows what it would be to experience this condition. To feel that every nerve cracks, every bone breaks and the flesh melts is something unthinkable. They say great saints, sages such as Buddha, had to pass through such experiences. He felt that his bones were cracking, his flesh was melting, and all whole hell was descending on his head. Everything was experienced, but still he had the guts to face all this.

Violent desires will manifest themselves when social connections are severed, desires which cannot even be detected as long as we are comfortably placed in society. Read the lives of great saints and sages—they are greater gospel stories than logical texts—and how they experienced life. St. Francis of Assisi, St. Teresa of Avila, and some of the great saints of India, both ancient and modern, right from Parashara and Viswamitra, are examples before us. We will be terrified even to read the lives of these people. We will not be able to contain these things in our minds.

This is so because in yoga we are trying to untie this knot of individuality. Inasmuch as this knot is our own selves, the untying of it is like untying our own selves, which is like losing ourselves. What can be worse for us? We try to lose our own selves by dismantling this whole edifice of personality, by dismembering the whole body and everything that it is made of. We may say, “Yes, I understand,” but when it actually comes to it, we will know that we cannot go near it. It will be like touching blazing fire. We may touch even fire, but cannot touch this subject.

Even this difficulty comes in stages. As our detachment from social relations is to be practised gradually, step by step, and not at once by one stroke, so the internal ascent of consciousness from the lower to the higher also is a graduated one. Inasmuch as we have descended from the Supreme Being gradually, we have to ascend, also, gradually. The life of Viswamitra, as narrated in Valmiki’s Ramayana, is very beautiful to read. Many times, I felt that it is the whole story of the human being, the story of the seeker. From the lowest material life of royal comfort which Viswamitra enjoyed, from that stage he rose to the supreme heights of God-consciousness. But, how did he achieve it? The difficulties he had to face are all interesting things to read.

The connections of our personality, our individuality, with things outside, with nature as a whole, are countless in number. Each one has to be snapped. These connections are vital, like nerve currents, and we cannot snap a nerve. We know the pain we feel if we cut off one nerve in the body. So, the severing of each attachment is like cutting off one limb of the body. Such is the agony that we feel when one attachment is to be overcome with effort. It is impossible to logically describe loves, attachments and affections, because love is something which escapes analysis of every kind, and we should not subject it to any kind of vivisection, whether psychologically or philosophically. It is what it is. It is something that escapes everybody’s notice, and it is that which controls all things.

The love of Self is the source of every other love in the world; and, the love of Self is supreme in the light of the varieties of self we have referred to earlier. When we speak of love of Self, we mean love of every kind of self. Thus varaigya—detachment, self-restraint, self-control—is the overcoming of the involvement of the higher self in a lower self; and we should not take a step in the direction of the higher self, even the self immediately above, unless the lower one is completely subjugated.

All desires have to be either fulfilled, or they have to be destroyed. They should not be allowed to remain alive. Either desires go because of complete fulfilment, or they go because they are totally annihilated. A beggar wants nothing because he cannot get anything. A king wants nothing because he has everything. Either way, they want nothing. In any case, desires should not be there.

These are internal processes which follow in the wake of external detachment. Yoga is a gradual movement from the outer to the inner, and from the inner, finally, to the Universal.