Uddalaka’s Meditation on OM

Rama asked, “Gurudeva, why does one chant OM?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, listen to the story of Uddalaka. He never took OM to be merely a word. To him it became the rhythm of a breath.”

The Sage

Uddalaka was a rishi, a sage of perhaps fifty years.

His hair was gathered into a knot at the back, and his beard reached his waist. Above his right eyebrow there was a scar, from a stone that had struck him in childhood.

He had read many books, learned many mantras, and performed many yajnas (fire-rites).

But one thing had sat inside him for many years.

In his childhood, when he was eight years old, he had watched his father die. His father was a Brahmin, and his death had come without warning.

As he lay dying, his father had said something very softly. Uddalaka had heard it, yet he could not understand it.

Many years later Uddalaka asked his mother, “Mother, what did Father say at the end?”

His mother said, “Son, he said, ‘Silence.’ That was all.”

“Silence?”

“Yes, only silence.”

Uddalaka said nothing then, but the word stayed lodged inside him.

For many years he kept turning it over, wondering what silence meant, and what silence his father had seen in his final moment.

Uddalaka read books, learned mantras, performed yajnas, yet behind every word the same question stood waiting.

He thought to himself, “Everything I have learned is words. But how can I know what lies beyond words? The silence my father saw, how do I see it?”

One day Uddalaka went to a guru, and the guru taught him the practice of OM.

“Uddalaka, OM is not merely a word. It is a breath, a rhythm, a meeting of three tones.

“A is the first tone, at the beginning of the breath.

“U is the second tone, in the middle of the breath.

“M is the third tone, at the end of the breath.

“Then there is a fourth tone, one without any sound, the tone of the silence that follows the breath. This is the real one.

“First chant the three tones aloud, then softly, then within your mind, then without any sound at all. In the end you will remain only in the fourth tone, in that silence.”

Uddalaka returned and chose a place for his practice beneath a tree, beside a lake. Then he sat down there.

The Practice

On the first day Uddalaka chanted OM aloud.

As he said A, his mouth opened, the sound rose from his chest, and a tremor moved through his ribs. As he said U, his mouth half closed, the sound came from his throat, and the tremor reached his neck. As he said M, his lips closed, the sound became only a vibration, and that vibration climbed to his brow.

This he repeated many times over.

An echo rose among the trees, and a ripple ran across the lake.

On the second day he chanted softly, and the sound stayed close to his ears.

On the third day he chanted within his mind. But as he chanted inwardly, something began to happen to Uddalaka: his mind started to wander.

In the midst of OM a memory from childhood pushed its way in, then another, then a third.

Uddalaka thought, “What is this? I was chanting OM, and my mind is drifting here and there.”

First anger came to him, then despair.

For many days he did the same. Each time he chanted, and each time his mind fled.

One night Uddalaka sat at the edge of the lake. His eyes were open, and a few stars were shining in the sky.

He thought, “Perhaps I am doing this wrongly. I keep trying to stop the mind, but the mind is not a thing that can be stopped.”

He remembered his guru’s words: “In the end you will remain only in the fourth tone, in that silence.”

Silence. The very word his father had spoken as he died.

Something stirred inside Uddalaka. Perhaps his father too had known this at the end.

On the fourth day he sat without chanting, only with his breath.

The breath went in, and he felt A upon his chest without pronouncing it, only the lightness of that place.

The breath came to its middle, U, and after a catch at the throat, an opening again.

The breath went out, M, and after a trembling at the lips, stillness again.

Then came the silence after the breath.

(For the first time Uddalaka looked at that silence with full attention.)

(That silence was more than an absence of sound. It was a presence, a full silence.)

(A smile rose inside Uddalaka.)

(Father.)

On the fifth day Uddalaka looked deeper into that silence.

The silence was within, and inside that silence was something still, a light, with no source, with no eye to see it.

Uddalaka sank into that light.

Years passed. Uddalaka stayed where he was, practicing OM every day and sinking into the fourth tone every day.

His body grew old, but his eyes became like a child’s.

People came to see him and said, “Uddalaka, teach us OM.”

Uddalaka would say, “I will teach you, but first understand one thing. This is no magic. It is only practice, every day, for many years. Then one day that silence will come to you.”

Some people practiced, some did not. Those who practiced found that silence, and those who did not went on treating OM as a word.

Rama said, “Gurudeva, I too will practice. But what, in the end, is that fourth tone?”

Vasistha said, “Rama, it is hard to speak of it. It is neither word nor sound; it is the source of all sounds. Simply practice, and you will find it.”

Rama looked toward the water, where a shaft of sunlight was trembling.