Home * Current Items of Interest * About Osho * Democracy Today * Other Links * Contact Me

Translated Discourses on Dariya:* Sanskrit Words Defined * 1 * 2 * 3 * 4&5 * 6 * 7 * 8 * 9 * 10 * 11

Life is Super-Consciousness

The tenth discourse: 30th January 1979: Osho Commune International, Pune

The first question: Osho! what is the difference between a poet and a rishi?

A poet is a seed, seeking path, groping, falling down and rising in the dark womb or earth; everything yet is doubtful whether he will arrive or not. It is yet a dream whether he will be able to get up, whether he will have union with the sun. Arriving home may happen also. Yearning is there, the thirst is intense. Missing also is possible; since not all seeds become trees. And also not all trees that become trees bear fruits and flowers. No one knows how many difficulties a seed has to go through before it can become flower - before a possibility becomes a reality.

A poet does have a thirst for light. And perhaps on some levels of dreams a little shadow of light is also caste. However, there is yet no experience of light. Eye has not opened. He is more or less half awakened. It is like dawn has broken, birds started to sing songs, the sun has risen and you turned around, pulled up your blanket and went back to sleep. This way a whisper also fell into ear - the traffic on road became active, the milkman knocked on door, children started to get ready to go to school, your wife started to make preparation to make tea, the fragrance of tea began to enter nostrils - all this started to happen but you have not awakened yet. You are not asleep but you are not awake either - you are somewhere in the middle. That state in the middle is the state of a poet. That is why a poet often becomes bridge between sleeping and awakened people.

A poet lives on the earth whereas a rishi floats in the sky. Of course, a poet also raises his eyes toward sky once in a while, that is true; and a rishi also lowers his eyes toward the earth, that too is true - but their perspectives are different, their viewpoints are different. A poet is earth's son, his is an effigy of clay. When a poet raises his eyes and beholds the sky full of stars, he forgets his mortality, his death, his body for a moment. A rishi is the son of immortality. He has known that life is eternal. And even when he looks toward the earth, this fact does not escape him even for a moment. A tremendous compassion arises in his heart when he sees people on the earth wandering about, searching for path - he wants to shower on them, he wants to become a candle light on people's path, he wants to become torch in their hands.

A poet sings and so does a rishi. But the songs are much different. A poet's song is not much more than consolation. It is melodious, sweet, delicious and helpful in letting you forget life's anxieties, it is intoxicating. It is calming. On the other hand, a rishi's song is something else. A rishi awakens you, shakes you. A rishi's statement is that of rebellion. A sage's statement is fiery, it pierces like an arrow. There is no consolation in a rishi's statement - it has the flame of truth - a poet's words can help in bringing forth unconsciousness; a rishi's words takes you toward wakefulness, meditation and that supreme experience that leads to encounter with divine. A rishi is a sag, a poet is but a dreamer.

However, at times there is a projection of a rishi's vision in the dreams of a poet. And at times a poet - knowingly or unknowingly - is able to capture a few drops of a rishi's elixir in his words.

For a poet a peep hole opens every once in a while, for a sage this has become his whole life. For a poet there is a duality, there is struggle. Poet is fighting with himself. Poet is split. He is something outside, he is something else inside. So, it may also happen that you can become desirous to meet a poet having read his collections of beautiful songs, or having heard or having hummed them. But don't ever do that mistake even by chance, because you will find the poet to be very ordinary. Those extra-ordinary statements of his that let you to experience much dignity would be totally lost after meeting the poet. You will find him to be ordinary. Just like you. He may perhaps be even more ordinary than you. Because a jump for a poet happens only sometimes. In some unintended moments he sees scenes from far away inadvertently - but they get lost. He may even capture in language - but they get lost.

Someone asked Coleridge, "I read one of your poems, it is lovely. But I am unable to get the meaning. I have asked the meaning to many scholars who teach your poems, but even they have not been able to clarify the meaning. Therefore, I have come to ask the meaning to you directly." Coleridge said, "It is a little late. When I wrote it, two persons knew the meaning of this poem; now only one knows!" That person said, "So, for sure that one person is you, is it not? Please explain it to me." Coleridge said, "You are mistaken. When I wrote the poem, then I also knew the meaning and God also knew the meaning. Now only God knows the meaning. I don't know the meaning. It was like a peep-hole opened for a moment, a breeze of wind came, dust blew, the vision became alive, something became visible; then I fell back into my darkness, and I started to crawl back into same dark abodes, the sky got lost, the stars in the sky got lost. Where, now, is the meaning."

Don't ask a poet the meaning of his poem. Of course, sometime he knows the meaning when the poem is born - but only in that moment of 'child-delivery' - later his loses it.

A poet is duality. That is why most poets in the world seem to be insane. Most poets become insane. Most poets commit suicide. Most poets become addicted to intoxicating substances such as wine. Most poets' life is not good life. Why is that? There songs are very lovely, their songs have wings - such that if you ride them you may fly along a long journey - but why is a poet not able to ride those wings himself? He has a duality within. He is ninety-nine percent clay and one percent paradise. That one percent ray of sunbeam can't carry the weight of ninety-nine percent clay and take a flight. He has a constant struggle within. He lives a live of duplicity.

First: the life of his songs. There he seems exactly like a rishi. And the other: that ordinary life of his. There he seems even worse than an ordinary person. A poet is a paradox. A duality, a dichotomy, a split. A rishi is whole, with equanimity, non-dual. He speaks what he lives. He lives what he speaks. There is distinction, harmony in his speaking and his living. He does not have two notes within him. An iktara (a single-stringed guitar) is incessantly sounding within him. A poet, it is possible, is singing the songs of love and himself has never experienced love.

That happens often.

Often, those who have been deprived of love are the people who sing the songs of love. That is how they console their mind. Their love-songs are a way to fulfil the lack of experience of love, it's a compensation. They forget themselves by singing songs of what they have never experienced.

When a rishi sings the song of love, it is a spring flowing out of his soul. It is his experience. Poets also talk about divine; however that divine is like when a tooth is broken and the tongue tends to go again and again to the spot where the tooth used to be. As long as the tooth was there, the tongue never went there. Now that the tooth is not there, there is a void, and the void is uncomfortable; tongue goes there again and again. That is how the God of a poet is. It is like a broken tooth, it is a void where the tongue goes there again and again. There is an empty spot that demands that you fill it. Its a ditch that wants to be filled. But a poet has no way to fill it. Of course, he can write songs about God, he can write lovely songs, but those lovely songs would only be lovely in words, there would not be any substance in them, there would not be any soul. There would be a body, a beautiful body, a form adorned with very lovable ornaments, but the moment you remove the veil you will find nothing within.

Poems often don't have any soul within. Poems are often like a imitation man that you erect in a farm, don't you! It comes handy for scaring birds and animals. But a scare-crow in the farm! You can just stack a round pot atop two sticks - it appears like a head - place a Gandhi-cap also - that should also scare in the dark - adorn it with breeches and a Nehru Jacket - it will give appearance of a political leader - but if it scares the birds and animals, that is enough!

The poems of poets are often scare-crows. They look like humans but inside there is no soul, a heart doesn't beat, a breath does not flow. A rishi is with soul. His words may not be well chosen, his words perhaps do not well conform to linguistics, grammar and may not be bound by rules of rhyme or rhythm; but those words have life. And that is the real rhythm. His words have the mark of his own experience. That is what is really meaningful, that is what is soul. Words may possess all the beauty ... you may beautify a corpse all you want, you may adorn it with ornaments of diamonds and gems, you may put make-up and colors on its face - but a corpse is a corpse. And the corpse may be loaded with very valuable ornaments of diamonds and gems ... even then it is not worth two clams in front of an alive human who may not even have rags on his body.

No other language in the world has distinguished between a rishi and a poet. Only we have two words. And there is reason for having two words. We have known the heights that rishis have soared to. The poets of Upnishads can’t be termed as poet. Kalidasa is a poet, so is Bhavabhuti, Shakespeare and Milton. However, the poets of Upnishads can’t be termed as poet - to term them would not be right - they are seers, they are rishis. They have seen, they have lived; they have not, they have not simply sung. To sing is secondary, to know is primary. The songs have come as shadow of the knowing and so have rhymes.

Those dreams that were carved by my eyes

In the dawn of fancy of brilliant exclamations

Just like burning, shivering, silent tear-drops

They are gleaming through the eye-lids of my life

Having given these brilliant and courage-filled tears

I torch them in the wall-niche of your spirit

I am wounded all over and yet I bring for you

Songs of glittering and undulating flowers

In loving wine-glass of your indifferent glimpses

I squeeze colors of my silken fate

I bring out your smile and your elation

Through tossing away colorful blood of my walaawal??

In the soft melodious waves of my instrument

I submerge the melancholy of your face

But for my own yearnings of my youth

I hide from you and cry

This art of mine which is a rouge to your hearts

Is but a coffin to the feelings of my youth

A poet smiles on the surface, but cried deep within.

Those dreams that were carved by my eyes

In the dawn of fancy of brilliant exclamations

His dreams are born in darkness. He carves his dreams only in darkness. He does not have light.

Those dreams that were carved by my eyes

In the dawn of fancy of brilliant exclamations

Just like burning, shivering, silent tear-drops

They are gleaming through the eye-lids of my life

If you carefully look in the eyes of a poet, less of songs and more of tears would be visible. Less of ecstasy and more of anguish would be visible. Contentment none at all, grief roaring like waves of ocean would be visible.

Just like burning, shivering, silent tear-drops

They are gleaming through the eye-lids of my life

Having given these brilliant and courage-filled tears ...

A poet provides light, shine, polish even to his tears. He presents even his tears as if they are pearls.

Having given these brilliant and courage-filled tears

I torch them in the wall-niche of your spirit

And in the wall-niches of your souls ... I torch these dreams that were carved in darkness - brilliance artificially provided - like candle lights in the niches of your soul.

Having given these brilliant and courage-filled tears

I torch them in the wall-notch of your spirit

I am wounded all over and yet I bring for you

Songs of glittering and undulating flowers

A poet is covered with wounds, but he brings songs for you. He markets songs. A poet is a peddler of songs. To market songs is his profession. Who would want tears? - People already have plentiful of tears - who would want tears? People are demanding pearls. So he sells his tears as if they were pearls. Who has the need for wounds? All have wounds more than they need. There are wounds all around. The should has become a series of wounds. So he makes flowers out of his wounds and markets them; he makes garlands and markets them.

I am wounded all over and yet I bring for you

Songs of glittering and undulating flowers

Don't you fall in the trap of poets' songs. Songs is their business. Rishi's song is not business, it is his gratitude. Meera danced, but is not a dancing-girl, her dance is a gratitude. She did not dance for someone, she danced because she could not stop herself from dancing. A poet sings for someone. Rishi sings. If someone hears it, it is good; if no one hears it, it is good. Rishi's songs are like the cries of these birds in the morning. These are not offered for someone. Here rose the Sun, the dawn broke, this intoxication happened in the soul, this feeling of intoxication began to flow by itself. Rishi's songs are like the flowers on a bush. If someone plucks them it is good, if garlands are made it is good, if someone passes by it is good, if someone enjoys the fragrance it is good, if no one passes by it is good. The fragrance will keep being given away. It will keep spreading in the empty sky. It will ride the wings of wind and make a journey to distant places. Whether some nostrils will some time recognize it, get familiar with it - that is without desire. If it happens - good, if not - good.

Rishi sings for his own pleasure. The other is without any desire. Whether or not the other exist - that is secondary. Rishi sings in his intoxication. But a poet is pedallor of songs, he sells songs. He is like a gardener selling flowers.

In loving wine-glass of your indifferent glimpses ...

Your eyes are totally dry, they are like desert, you too wish to have a little dampness in them, you too wish that a little love may gleam through them.

In loving wine-glass of your indifferent glimpses ...

In the container of your dry eyes ...

I squeeze colors of my silken fate

So, the poet says that I squeeze colors of the rainbow in your dry eyes so that you too may get a little familiar with rainbows and that a few rainbows may also grow within you; and I bring colors of butterfly-wings - as you are so colorless; and I bring a little news of spring-time - as you have series of autumns in your life.

In loving wine-glass of your indifferent glimpses

I squeeze colors of my silken fate

I bring out your smile and your elation

Through tossing away colorful blood of my walaawal??

And then I smile so that an echo of a smile may also generate within you.

In the soft melodious waves of my instrument

I submerge the melancholy of your face

I submerge you wilted face in my songs, in the melody so that a little softness may appear in your life also; you may also get to know a little juice.

In the soft melodious waves of my instrument

I submerge the melancholy of your face

But for my own yearnings of my youth

I hide from you and cry

But don't just believe in what I say. They are just for a show. When alone, in seclusion I cry just the same way you cry. My eyes are full of tears not of pearls. There is darkness and not candle-light in my soul. And I too have no familiarity with rainbows. And I too have not seen colors of butterflies. And I too have not communed with sky in my heart. I am crawling in the same space you are.

However, this is like in a dark night passing through a dark alley when you begin to sing real loud - you get courage, that you are not alone, just by listening to the sound of your own singing. The fear vanishes by listening to the sound of your own singing, the seclusion vanishes. Such are the songs of your poets - they fulfil your loneliness.

But for my own yearnings of my youth

I hide from you and cry

This art of mine which is a rouge to your hearts

Is but a coffin to the feelings of my youth

This existence of mine, this are of mine, this gift that I have, 'which is a rouge to your hearts,' that puts color in your heart, it make them beautiful, it gives your hears a beauty, elegance ...

This art of mine which is a rouge to your hearts

Is but a coffin to the feelings of my youth ...

But if you ask me, it is but a casket to my youth; this is a casket to my soul.

Life of a poet is full of conflict. He has something inside and something else outside. If you dig deep in his smiles you will find tears. And if you would dive a little deeper into his songs, cross a few more flights of steps you will find much darkness. Rishi's life is a melody. More you dig deeper, more you find the same stuff; more and more. Rishi's life has the same beat inside and out; rishi tastes uniform, you may taste him anywhere. Every word of rishi has a message, a call, an invitation.

There is much distinction between a poet and a rishi. Keep in mind, however, sometimes poets fetch the glimpse of a rishi. 'A blind has vision of afar in darkness'. Sometimes visions happen. But rishis live in that world of incessant light.

Consider three things. One is the science; that is limited to matter. Another is religion that is beyond matter, divine is its search. And in between the two is art, poetry. One leg of the art is on the earth and the other is in divinity. That is why an artist is so much in conflict. Neither a scientist is so much in conflict ... there is no reason to be. He has already assumed that there is no divine. There is nothing other than matter. Therefore, you will find a kind of consistency, a logic in a scientist. And a saint too has a consistency, a logic; because only divine is and nothing else.

Scientist says: divine is false, market-place is real, universe is true, Brahman is a lie - and a saint says: Brahman is true and universe is lie. Both have become wedded to one. The state of an artist is like Trishanku suspended in the middle of the two. A painter, a sculptor, a musician, a poet. These are all forms of poetry. Some one produces poetry through sound, then we call him a musician. Someone produces poetry through bodily grace, then we call him a dancer. Someone produces poetry through colors, then we call him a painter. Someone chisels poetry into boulders, then we call him a sculptor. These are just forms of poetry. Mediums may be different. A poet is in the middle of the two. Poet says: universe is true and so is Brahman. Therefore a poet lives in stress. Sometimes this way and sometimes that way. Sometimes he descend the lowest level and sometimes he takes flight at the highest.

If you have a little inkling toward poetry, keep in mind, that inkling is to be refined. You have to climb step after step, stairs after stairs. A poet is to be taken to a rishi. And when the poet within you attains to the rishi, then the ultimate treasure of life is obtained. Then a Koran rises within you, upnishads are generated, a Geeta is born. There are not poems. These are statements of rishis. That only is their greatness. Someone may sing all he wants million ways, if the beauty of Koran does not appear, it does not appear. Someone may put together beautiful words a million different ways, but if the height of upnishads is not attained, it is not attained. You may write songs all you want, but it is not possible even to get to the feet of BhagwadGeeta. All have the three possibilities. Because you are the sum-total of the three. Your body is constructed out of clay, out of matter. If you linger only at the body, then you will stay stray in science. Your mind is in the middle of the two. If you stay entangled only in the mind then you will remain at being only a poet. Full of conflict, full of duality, fragmented, like riding two horses. You have the spirit residing in you too. Alas! if you dive in the spirit, then a rishi is born within you. You are not to consent on being less than a rishi. It is the form right of every person that a bhagwadGeeta has to be born within him.

The second question: Osho! What kind of a thirst is this! Even after being totally satisfied it always feel like there is something missing. There is not a thing in this world, that I have not found. But, Master! what shall I do with this human-thirst?

Osho! Please have compassion to explain this state, that is my only prayer!

Thakur Rana! A thirst can kindle in this world, it can't quench. There are no water springs that quench the thirst in this world. The use of this world is to have the thirst born not to quench it. When you drink divine then your thirst is quenched. The use of the world is that it may kindle the thirst in such a way that you have to seek divine, that you become powerless to seek, that you become engaged in seeking divine leaving everything else aside.

The world is but a heated desert. In this desert, for the thirst to awaken is absolutely necessary, it is natural, and it must happen. It is a wonder when some people are seen in this world who have no thirst, who have never had an idea of a thirst for divine. These people are miraculous. They are in a desert, hot fire is falling down; but heaven alone knows how they have been able to conceal their thirst? There state is similar to ... I have heard that Mulla Nasaruddin went to pilgrimage to Mecca, and has lost his way in desert. After four or five days when he came back to his neighborhood totally tired, people said to him, "You have come alive. You should thank God! How did you spend your days? How come you did not get scorched in spite of the terrible heat that is pouring, in spite of no shaded place in desert?" Nasaruddin said, "What do you take me for, an idiot? I would simply rest in my own shadow"

In his own shadow! Can any one sit in his own shadow? But this tale of Nasaruddin is very meaningful. All those people in this world who seem to be so content are just sitting in their own shadow. They are in great deception. The wealth here is not really wealth; the post here is not really a post; the fame here is not really fame - you are just sitting in your own shadow.

It is good, Thakur Rana! that you say, "What kind of a thirst is this! Even after being totally satisfied it always feel like there is something missing ..." Your are fortunate. One must feel this missing thing. The ones who don't feel this are unfortunate. It is as if divine has turned its back to them. It is as if it was not even preordained for the flowers to blossom. As if they are deprived of springs from an ill luck. If there is thirst, a search for lake begins. I there is thirst then there is prayer. If there is prayer, then there is divine. Thirst is a great fortune, albeit when it is aroused the first time it feels like pain. But concealed within pains are great blessings. And not all curses are curses. If you explore you will find boon in them. Flowers are concealed even among thorns. And this is the kind of thirst it is. This thirst is aroused only when you have every thing the market-place has to offer.

Therefore, you are right when you say, "There is not a thing in this world, that I have not found." Why is this thirst there? The thirst only happens in those very circumstances. Those who have not gained things from the market-place think that the thirst would be quenched once they gain things of the market-place. Something will happen once a little better home would be constructed, a little wealth would be deposited in bank, the next election would be won. So there thirst is still seeking within the market-place.

And this too is natural. How can one have his thirst rise toward divine if one has not known anything of the market-place yet. It does seem like, if there were a little wealth, status, prestige everything will be alright. When all of these things are fulfilled, the delusion is destroyed. Then one realizes that the thirst is unaltered although there is wealth, status and prestige also. Not only it is unaltered, it has become deeper, more intense. The poverty within is felt with all seriousness once fortunes are amassed all around. The amassed fortunes are prerequisite to see poverty. A poor man can't know his poverty. How could he? One always realizes through contrariness. That is why we write with white chalk on a black-board. Why don't we write on a white-board? If we would write on a white-board, nothing would be visible although it would be written. The board has to be black. Then you can write with a white chalk. And if there is a white-board, then one has to write with a black chalk, with charcoal. Only contrary is visible.

A poor man never even realizes that he is poor. Only a rich man can realize. A healthy man does not realize that he is healthy. A sickness is needed then he realizes. When the contrary happens, then the awareness happens.

Thakur Rana, you say,"There is not a thing in this world, that I have not found", then why is this thirst? That is only why you have the thirst. Now, you will have to find divine. Now you have lost meaning with the market-place. You have known what is worth knowing, you have seen what is worth seeing. Now the hour has come when you close your eyes and see within. Now the moment has come when you lift your head from the earth toward the sky. You have picked many pebbles, now you fill your pouch with diamonds and gems.

When nest of heavy breaths

Become the boudoir of dark night

Snatched away are the delightful

Pearl necklaces of celebrations

Then fading stars with empty eyes scribe with tears

A loud statement like: 'How uncertain is this world?!'

When dawn smiles

Spreading red from its golden sack

On the slippery waves, when it

Dances its innocent rays,

Then buds quietly lift up veil of gentle foliage making

A moist-eyed statement: 'How intoxicating is the world?!'

Having given fragrance to winds

When the wilted flowers say,

'Why toss sand in the very eyes

Of the one who lay itself on your path?'

'Now what is the point?' sings the sweet drone of beetle,

The whispering of the cry says: 'How cruel is the world?!'

When day scribes its defeat of life

With golden-letters,

Little earth-dust submits itself

As if innumerable candles on the sky-floor

With a guffaw says darkness from the other shore with gusto

'Epochs have passed, and yet intoxicated is the world!'

With flowers from dream-land

When I weave my life,

'Immortal is my kingdom'

When my silly mind thinks,

Then comes a sweet pulsation from an unknown world

And sings with soft notes, 'How crazy is the world?!'

Just open your eyes and see. What you were searching is never to be found here. The one that would satisfy you, the one that would cure your hunger, your thirst would be quenched, the one that would help end incessant loud dissonance from your being, the one that would stop your inner tears, the one that would fulfil the void in your being - you would be fulfilled, that is not even here. It is not that it is not anywhere. You have to seek it in different dimension.

There is an outward race: you will find everything, you will not find satisfaction. There is a inward race: you will not find anything else, but you will find satisfaction. One race is toward the other: you will find relationships, you will find relations - brothers-sisters, husbands-wives, sonss-daughters - you will find all; but you will not find 'you.' One journey is toward self: there neither is father, nor mother, nor brother, nor sister, nor husband, nor wife - there 'you' are. And the who has known his self, has become satisfied. Because the one who has found oneself has found everything. You have unlimited treasures within you. But you are searching outward in the guise of a beggar.

When nest of heavy breaths

Become the boudoir of dark night

Snatched away are the delightful

Pearl necklaces of celebrations

Then fading stars with empty eyes scribe with tears

A loud statement like: 'How uncertain is this world?!'

The time has come, Thakur Rana! Listen to the echo arising all around!

Then fading stars with empty eyes scribe with tears

A loud statement like: 'How uncertain is this world?!'

Everything here is ephemeral. They are like bubbles in water. Don't build house in sand. Don't sail a paper-boat.

With flowers from dream-land

When I weave my life,

'Immortal is my kingdom'

When my silly mind thinks,

Then comes a sweet pulsation from an unknown world

And sings with soft notes, 'How crazy is the world?!'

Now you see, look all around you, there is a crowd of mad people. Whosoever is searching for something other than himself is a madman. Whosoever does not go inward but keeps running with more gusto; keeps running outward is a madman - he is living in mirages; he is living with disillusionments; he is insane; he will fall, he will break, he will regret much. And once time is past, regretting does not help then. 'There is no use crying over spilt milk.' It often happens that consciousness comes when death knocks on door - "Alas I missed! I had the opportunity but I wasn't able to use it!" The one who awakens before that only is wise.

Thakur Rana! that hour has come! Take that thirst as fortunate! Take this as a gift from divine, take this as a blessing.

"What kind of a thirst is this?" This thirst is the beginning of prayer. This thirst is the first blast of prayer. Prayer would be formed by intensifying this very thirst. Refine this very thirst, hone it, it will become prayer. What kind of a thirst is this? And once you make prayer out of this, divine is not very far. Let prayer become bridge between thirst and divine, then there is not even a little separation.

You ask, "What shall I do with this human-thirst?" Incite it! Enlarge it! Awaken it! Ablaze it! I am not here to extinguish your thirst, I am for putting torch to it. I will put more fuel to it - that is what I do, morning and evening. Fuel has to be poured into your thirst. Let it not be cooled off. Many efforts are being made to extinguish. Many people are waiting from place to place in the world to quench your thirst. And you are willing too, may someone quench your thirst - because thirst provides anguish; thirst troubles you, it brings uneasiness. You also wish that someone may say a word or two of consolation, he may dress and bandage - fill up the wound. Nay, if you have a wish like that then you have come to the wrong man. I will expose your wound some more, scrape some more. I will intensify your anguish much more. I will convert your thirst into a blazing flame - such flame that you may totally burn to ashes. Your thirst may become a candle-flame and you become a moth, then the prayer is accomplished. And that hour, that unprecedented hour is the union with divine.

Don't ask, "Please have compassion to explain this state," this state is not to be explained. In the desire to explain, to interpret, in an effort to understand - our sub-conscious motive is only this: to somehow understand this so as to get rid of trouble. We like to understand only those things from which we like to get rid of troubles. To understand is a way to get rid of a trouble. This thirst is not interpretable, inexpressible. This is not for understanding, it is for diving into. This is a mystery. Do not make a question out of this thirst, know this thirst to be a mystery. Lift its veil, ease into its unknown world; be on fire, throb with it, call for it, cry ; let this thirst become tear-drops, not answers, not questions, not interpretations, not commentaries. I can't make you understand the thirst.

Is thirst something to be explained? Now, for example, some man is suffering from thirst, what can you explain? All you can say is: "Brother, the thirst is thirst. If you want to do something about the thirst, then here is the spring of juices, stoop, get your handfuls, drink! However, if this man says, 'please explain this thirst ... then please explain water, what is water?' How will you explain water? Will the task be resolved by saying 'H-2-O' or that water is formed by compounding of hydrogen and oxygen. Or will you say to this man, "You take a note-book and keep writing in it: 'H2O, H2O' - as some people write: 'Ram-Ram-Ram-Ram'; similarly you keep writing 'H2O, H2O' in the note-book - take a rosary in your hand and with each bead you utter: 'H2O.'" How will that quench thirst or how will that make you understand thirst?

Neither chanting of Ram-Ram quenches thirst nor chanting of H2O will quench thirst. You will neither arrive anyplace by repeatedly writing Ram in a book nor will you arrive anyplace by repeatedly writing H2O in a book. The book would certainly be defiled. You will have to drink, you will have to drink divine. When you will drink, you will know. These are things of tasting ... of experiencing.

However, this much I tell you: what is happening is good! You are approaching the gate of temple! Temple is near! Don't just run away after making superficial explanation of the thirst. A person as thirsty as that only enters the indescribable world of sannyas.

The third question: Osho! I don't know a thing about religion or meditation. I have but fallen in love with you! That is why I am a sannyasin also and now I am ecstatic while listening to you sitting at your feet, I am grateful. Master! I am happy.

Ageha! who has ever discovered religion? Who has ever understood meditation? These are incomprehensible, not understandable things. They are experienced - not understood. Understanding comes of small things, understanding is a crude phenomenon. An essence is as far away from understanding as it is deep. Understanding happens in the skull. Love, prayer, meditation, religion - all happen in heart. Head is incapable of comprehending heart. That is why head considers heart to be insane, considers lover to be insane, considers a devotee to be insane. Brain does not comprehend the things of heart. Their mathematics are different. There is an entirely different mathematics that applies to the world of heart - some super-mathematics. One and one add up to two for brain. One and one add up to only one for heart. There the matter is quite different! In the world of brain, in the economics of brain, when you keep things they keep, when you give them away - they are gone. In the economic system of heart, when you keep things they are gone, when you give them away they keep. Brain is miserly, it is stingy. Heart gives away with both hands -"To pour off with both hands is the only work of saints." And the interesting part is that even after hoarding and saving, brain is not really able to keep anything - only dirt and garbage is left at hand. And heart gets to keep everything even after giving away everything. These two have separate worlds, have separate dimensions.

You ask, "I don't know a thing about religion or meditation" Who knows. You think religion is written in scriptures? If the religion were written then the things would have really simplified. In that case we would have taught religion in school, just the same way we teach mathematics and geography and history. Religion can't simply be taught. And since we make such unauthentic arrangements to teach, we make people non-authentically religious - someone is Hindu, some Christian, some Moslem, some Jaina, some Buddhist. How can an authentic religious man be a Hindu, how can he be a Christian, how can he be a Moslem? If there is only one divine, there is only one prayer. And if truth is one, how can there be many denominations. Even the truths of simple life are not separate. If you heat water in India, it evaporates at hundred degrees and if you heat it in Tibet, it evaporates at hundred degrees too. Water in Tibet could not claim, "This here is a Buddhist country, and the things of a Hindu nation would not apply here." You may heat water anywhere, it will evaporate at hundred degrees. Even the laws of nature are eternal - won't divine law be eternal? They too are eternal. But we impose religion on people. We impose principles of religion in the name of religion. And people spend their entire lives carrying the burden of those very imposed principles. They will never have any connection with divinity, it never can be. One has to drop all of this teaching first, one has to empty and clear one's heart. Then one gets to know.

You say, "I don't know a thing about religion or meditation." That is good! If you knew, you would have never come close to me. If you knew, you would have become a scholar. If you knew, you would have recited like parrots. You would not have come close to me. The ones who know, they never come here.

Yesterday I got my hands on a book that someone in Delhi has printed - some Arya-samaji has printed it. Only Arya-samajis can print idiotic books like these. It is written in that book that to hear my talks is an ultimate sin, to read my books is an ultimate sin, to come in my vicinity is an ultimate sin. Then I was a little surprised that this man must have read my books also. How much ultimate sin this poor wretch must have committed! He will fall into ultimate hell! I started feeling much pity for that man. He has done sin after sin. People have not given you awareness nor courage - in the name of religion. They have given you much weakness, impotence.

Now these are things of impotence that to hear my talks is ultimate sin. This is perplexity. There is fear: how long would you deny truth once my talks are heard? If you heard it then brain may deny it but heart would accept it - tomorrow if not today. Then what will happen? Therefore, don't even hear. Therefore tie gongs to your earlobes and keep striking them so that no other sound may be heard. That is why all your so called religious people have tied gongs to their earlobes - they are gong-ears. They keep striking them loud so that no name or talk may be heard. They have all closed their eyes - they have become like oxen running oil mill - they shouldn't open their eyes lest they should see truth. Are these signs of being religious? A religious man would be one with open eyes, he would be without bias, he would not have had a preconceived notion, he would not be insistent, he would be willing to go through every experience. The one who starts with a conclusion beforehand is not religious. And the problem is that you all are starting with conclusion beforehand. Someone is a Hindu, so he has already decided how things must be. Now, you have not even allowed opportunity for truth to reveal.

It is good, Ageha, that you say, "I don't know a thing about religion or meditation." This is the good fortune that has brought you to me. If you had known then you could not have simply come, to come here would have been ultimate sin. You have been able to come with open heart, with open feelings, eager to hear, eager to understand, eager to experience - only that is why you could come because you don't know a thing about religion and meditation. The ones who know, they come but with their expectations. If something would be happening a little different from their expectation then that would be wrong. As if they do know what right is. They don't know anything. Because, the experience of religion that happens to every person here is unique, it happens unprecedented. No preconceived ideas about that is of help.

Say, someone determined after seeing Mahaveera meditating under a tree, naked, like a statue of stone that this is what meditation is. Later, he saw Meera dancing - with her single string sitar, with dancing bells tied around her ankles with tears of ecstasy pouring out of her eyes - intoxicated, losing sight of punctiliousness - there is no awareness of clothes as to when the saree's edge has slipped - who has the sobriety? In that hour of intoxication, who has the awareness of small things. However, if this man has determined to establish Mahaveera's meditation as the meditation ... if he would have seen Meera, he would have said, "What kind of meditation is this? This is rather unseemly. This is not meditation."

But, it happened to Mahaveera in Mahaveera's way, it happened to Meera in Meera's way. Meera had her meditation and Mahaveera also had his meditation. Meditation is more like water: you may pour it into any container, it takes the shape of that very container. You pour it in a flask, it takes the shape of the flask; you pour it onto a plate, it takes the shape of the plate. Meditation is the state of fluid awareness. And, since each person is different - his expression of it is different. The one who has seen Meera and determined that that is what meditation is; if he would see Buddha sitting under a tree with closed eyes like a statue of stone, he would say, "What is this gentleman doing? Is this some kind of a meditation? Where is the single string sitar? Go, tie dancing bells around your ankles, call for Krishna - 'here danced Meera tying dancing bells around her ankles'. What are you doing here sitting idle? Why are you wasting time?" That too would be incorrect. A mistake is made wherever we formulate concepts. Because concepts are based on one person and divine never even makes two persons alike. Divinity makes every person unique, unprecedented. This creates lot of problems.

A Christian missionary came to me and said, "You talk so much about Buddha and Mahaveera, but what have they done for the human race? Jesus had allowed himself to be crucified! He sacrificed his life! He is a savior for the man! What has Mahaveera accomplished? What has Krishna accomplished? What has Buddha accomplished? Where is the sacrifice? They have formulated a concept that until someone is not crucified, he is not attained to enlightenment. What kind of Buddha can he be till then? He has to be crucified.

I said to him, "Do you know what the Jainas say? Jainas come to me and tell me not to mention Jesus' name along with Mahaveera's." The missionary was taken aback, wanted to know why? I told him what they say. "Every action has a chain - even a thorn does sting without cause. When a thorn stings a foot it means that somewhere in the past life you must have committed a sin. Jesus was crucified - not a thorn, a crucifix - he must have committed some extreme sin! The principle of karma is clear. Jesus was crucified because he must have committed a really base sin. Mahaveera never even suffered a sting of a thorn." The Jaina story says that when Mahaveera walks on a path ... mind you, he never wore shoe or such, and he never suffered a thorn sting his entire life ... so the story goes that a thorn sting was not even possible because he had not committed any sin his past incarnation. He had emerged totally pure from his previous incarnation. So, while on his way if there were a thorn lying on path, it would quickly turn itself around .. a thorn ... 'Mahaveera is a-coming, let me not hurt him.'

Now, the ones who have this concept that thorns would quickly turn themselves around when they saw Mahaveera, lest they would pierce him; can they ever value the crucifixion of Jesus? Impossible. Absolutely impossible.

A person engrossed with concepts is not religious. A person devoid of concepts is religious. A person without principles is religious. One who enters with a mind without conclusions, who experiments - he only is religious.

Ageha! it is good that you have no idea about religion and meditation. That is the only reason why it has become easy to experiment with me. Only those who have so much courage to cut asunder all their biases can be joined with me.

And then you say, "I have but fallen in love with you!" This love is the meditation. This love will clarify, will continue to clarify. With this very love that flame would be ignited within you slowly and gradually. What meditation is larger than love? What prayer is larger than love?

What was supposed to happen is happening.

Had you arrived just once!

How much compassion, how many messages

Would have covered path shaped as pollen

Every fiber of the being would have sung

Passionate celebration full of love

Tears would have washed those feet!

Had you arrived just once.

Misty eyes would have instantly smiled

Sadness from lips would have washed away

A spring would have spread through life

The ever-amassed indifference would have been lost;

The eyes would be willing to sacrifice all.

Had you arrived just once!

Love is a cry for divine. You are in love with me - that is just the beginning, this is just the first step. Slowly and gradually this very love will keep getting deeper. I will be erased, I will be out of your sight and this love will keep getting deeper and become divine love. This is the very meaning of Sat Guru. The one who awakens love, becomes instrumental in awakening love, becomes an excuse - and when the love is awakened he does not remain standing between you and divinity; very quietly - even before you know it. A pseudo guru is one who becomes like a wall between you and divine. Sat Guru is one who would become an excuse for love to be awakened, but as soon as it is awakened he withdraws gracefully. He would not even let you know as to when he withdrew, as to when he transferred your hand into the hand of divinity.

And divinity is not distant, it is just a matter of your hand being transferred to his hand. It is just a matter of attaining the art to capture the invisible.

When rays of light wipe blemish of

Anguish with tears from lotus leaf,

Startled are stars with touch of breath

As if in amazement, as if not knowing,

Thence calls me out on the other shore

Who is that like a music in distance?

When in nocturnal darkness an intense cloud spreads

Like a heavy pain it gathers in empty sky,

When it even causes files of fire flies to scatter

Like a garland of tears of gold,

The flash which then causes eyes to shut

Who is that amidst the smile of lightning?

In the silvery shell of earth-sky

When the ocean pulsates like a liquid pearl,

Floating clouds amidst soft chain of ice

In the overwhelming silver moonlight;

The one who becomes fragrance and soothes me

Who is that one like a deep breath in sleep?

When on rose-like cheeks of young morning

The drying drops from heavenly bodies

Shower in the golden rays of sunbeam

Make offering of blossoms and laughing pearls,

The one who drops curtains on stage of dreams

And then open eyes - who is he?

He has surrounded you from all around.

Thence calls me out on the other shore

Who is that like a music in distance?

The flash which then causes eyes to shut

Who is that amidst the smile of lightning?

The one who becomes fragrance and soothes me

Who is that one like a deep breath in sleep?

The one who drops curtains on stage of dreams

And then open eyes - who is he?

Divine is not distant, you just don't have his presence felt, don't have his recognition. Diamond lies in front of you and you are looking this way and that. This is the only doing a Sat Guru does - he shows you the diamond and then may withdraw quietly. He may withdraw so quietly that even his footsteps may not be heard! Lest you should become infatuated with him. Love is surely good, infatuation is not. Love is surely good, attachment is not.

Ageha! do love me, don't be infatuated with me. Do awaken love, but the love is to guided onto the path of prayer. Don't make that an attachment.

You say, "That is why I am a sannyasin also and now I am ecstatic while listening to you sitting at your feet, I am grateful. Master! I am happy." That is the very purpose of sannyas that you be in ecstasy and be grateful. Divine has given you so much, won't you even thank him! Divine has given you unbounded gift, won't you even shed a couple of tears of ecstasy! He has given you everything - something you could not even imagine, something you could not even dream about - he has given you all that; and you wonn't even bow your head in his feet!

The only meaning of sannyas is to bow down, to be surrendered.

The fourth question: Osho! what to ask, it does not come to understanding. Even then I wish to receive a response!

Satya Veerendra, all questions are useless. Question itself is useless, because question arises out of doubt. The very question arises out of skepticism. Questions are just entanglements of mind, it is twisting, it is a way to make you go astray. You say it right, "what to ask, it does not come to understanding." What happened is good that, "what to ask" does not come to understanding. This is the appearance of the first ray of understanding.

If questioning drops, understanding is not far away. You keep getting entangled only by questioning. And from whatever response would be given, ten new questions would arise. As long as you have a questioning mind present within, no response can be a response. Whatever response would be given, questions would arise on top of that. One response would formulate ten questions. Someone asks, "Who created the world?" The whole country ... the whole world is infested with parrot-like scholars who will instantaneously say, "God did." Then the question arises, "Why did God create it?" What resolved? The matter remained in the same status. Now you explain some reason why God created it? The people explaining the reason are idiotic also. They say: "So that human-beings can be liberated." The question arises, "When the human-being wasn't there in the first place ... so to first create him, put him into bondage and then liberate him - what kind of intelligence is that?"

Or a question arises, "He is Omnipresent, Omniscient, Omnipotent. What is the need to bother humans so much. As he said in the beginning, 'let there be light!' and there was light. Similarly why does not He simply say, 'let there be liberation!' and there was liberation. If the light can happen then what is the hurdle in liberation happening. It creates doubt that your God is taking a little enjoyment, a little pleasure in torturing people. He is like little children who torture ants, or break wings on butterflies, or pull a dog's tail"

A little child was bothering a cat. His mother screamed, "Why are you pulling that cat's tail." That child said, "I am not pulling its tail, I am just standing on its tail. The cat itself is pulling its tail. I have no hand in it."

But why is this God standing on top of people's tail? Humans have to be freed from desires! But, then why did you give desires? Who asked for it? You gave desires, and humans will have to suffer sins! If there is anyone who is to be blamed in this world, it can't be anyone other than God. If anyone should be condemned to hell, God should be condemned to hell. Instead of condemning a human here and one there to hell because of desires, why not get to the very root of this? You have filled innumerable people's minds with desires, is this some kind of an etiquette, is that some kind of a civility?

A single question, you give an answer and a thousand questions would keep arising, and there can be no end to that. There is only one way by which an end to questioning is possible: by seeing the futility of questions. The day the futility of questions become obvious, in that moment an unprecedented peace, an unprecedented silence overwhelms you.

Veerendra! do experience such silence. You say, "what to ask, it does not come to understanding." It is good! Don't even ask anything! What is there to ask? There is something to live for. And the interesting part is that the one who asks does not find answer and the one who completely drops asking, finds that all the answers have always been present within. That is not an answer to some question. Life in itself is the answer. Life in itself is its super-consciousness, its own solution.

You say, "Even then I wish to receive a response!" This is beautiful. You have no question to ask, that is beautiful. Even then you wish to receive a response, that is even more beautiful. You have begun your journey in the right direction. Let go of questions, answer will come, it will come on its own accord, answer is within you, you are the answer. Let questions drop, and answers manifest themselves. Question is like ash on top of burning coal. When the ash blows away, the burning coal becomes manifest.

Answers don't come from without. Questions all come from without. You don't have a single question that is yours. You have learnt. That is why when people of different religion come to me, they ask different questions. They can't possibly ask similar questions. Because the people who give these to them are different. For instance, when a Christian comes he does not ask about life after death - he never asks. He has never been taught about life after death, so why would the question arise? A Moslem comes, he does not ask, "Who was I in my previous life?" There never was a previous life, there is no question about 'who?' The question has not been taught, therefore he does not ask. However, when a Jaina comes he asks, "How to remember my class? I wish to remember my previous lives, how to do it?" Do you think that is his question? His scholars have taught him this; that innumerable lives have already happened. You have come here after having lost through eight hundred forty million wombs. Just think about it, to be lost through eight hundred forty million wombs! What kind of wombs. Sometime a scorpion, sometime a snake, sometime a dog, sometime a crab, sometime a fish; even think about all the eight hundred forty million wombs! You would be bewildered, "Oh my God! were I even a crab! You could not think of something else. A scorpion, and a snake too!" But the question formulates because you have heard it from the childhood.

You begin to ask only what you have heard. Your questions are all borrowed. All have come from without. And the interesting part is this that response is not going to come from without. Questions have come from without and all the answers that will come from without will become new questions and not anything else would happen. Response is within you. Your are the response. "I am that", that is where the response is. "Anal Haq", that is where the response is. You are divine, that is where the response is. The response is in that experiencing. That is the very thing you wish to hear from me, but if I should say it then that would become a thing from without.

Take my suggestion, don't even ask me. Let the questions drop and sit in utter silence within and ask, "Who am I?" Just one response should come. Intensify that very thing, intensify that yearning: "Who am I, who am I?" And I am not saying that you repeat the words, "Who am I?" There is no need to repeat the words. For instance, you don't really repeat, "headache, headache, headache" when you have a headache; if you would say that then you would even forget the headache. When you have a headache, you don't really have to say, 'headache'; headache is experienced. You don't have to make up words. Similarly, don't repeat, "Who am I" as a question. Let this be like a headache, let this be a pain, let this be an intense pain, "Who - I" - not in words - let it keep piercing like an arrow, "Who am I?" And a waterfall will break through you alone and a response would come. That is the response which is meaningful. Something is happening, your sight has started to point in the right direction, your stance is getting stable.

Why have my ever-sleeping dreams suddenly awakened today?

Who has whispered forgotten melodies in the ears?

Who has put my body to fire,

And to my ash-like mind,

Put my whole life aflame,

What was concealed in forgetfulness was put to blaze;

Why have my ever-sleeping dreams suddenly awakened today?

Lovely dark clouds started to gather in the courtyard of sky,

Birds leaving nests make exhilarating noise with crazy happiness!

Let's break all bondage, says heart,

Let's leave abode with exuberance,

Let's join hands with intoxication,

Let's break all rules, drop all rituals!

Why have my ever-sleeping dreams suddenly awakened today?

Let's give away all the bottled up love today to our hearts content!

Let birds of yearnings sing heart-felt feelings from ages and ages!

Decorating beautiful boat of moon,

Making oars out of moonbeams,

Entering the ocean of sky -

Let's abandon this lethargic world and discover a new world!

Why have my ever-sleeping dreams suddenly awakened today?

Let's take stock of forgotten past on the background of the moment!

Let the song of past youth resound, once more, in the heart!

Let eyes be languishing

Let the entire world change once again,

Let's forgo the worldly practicality

Let there be new fire, new youth, new intoxication, new love!

Why have my ever-sleeping dreams suddenly awakened today?

Heaven knows why there is this mad fever arising,

Of the momentary memory of youth in the worn out body!

Juices flowed in a dry heart,

A cuckoo burst into cooing in the heart,

How can the heart be contained today?

Perhaps the body tired but the fire within has not cooled!

Why have my ever-sleeping dreams suddenly awakened today?

Some yearning that has been dormant for centuries together, for lives together, is sprouting.

Juices flowed in a dry heart,

A cuckoo burst into cooing in the heart,

How can the heart be contained today?

Perhaps the body tired but the fire within has not cooled!

Why have my ever-sleeping dreams suddenly awakened today?

An unprecedented yearning is coming alive. Veerendra, welcome it! Decorate doors with flower garlands! Light fire-works.

Lovely dark clouds started to gather in the courtyard of sky,

Birds leaving nests make exhilarating noise with crazy happiness!

Let's break all bondage, says heart,

Let's leave abode with exuberance,

Let's join hands with intoxication,

Let's break all rules, drop all rituals!

Why have my ever-sleeping dreams suddenly awakened today?

A totally intoxicated cloud has called upon you. A sand-storm is about to strike; a storm that will cleanse you; a flood that will bathe you, that will wash you clean. Now, don't you even ask question. Now, do you awaken a yearning within: "Who am I?" And the response will come. And I will not answer. The answer will come from within you, it will be yours alone. And when answer is your own, only then it is answer. Otherwise, any one can say, I may say that you are aatman - but how would that help? I may say that you are God, but how would that help? You will hear the words, the sound will fall into your ear - it will fall into one and exit from the other. It will not snag anywhere.

This kind of talks you have heard aplenty. Knowledge about Brahman is going on in every town and village. Every assembly- place only has discussions about the knowledge of Brahman. Every living-room has proclamation of the knowledge of Brahman. This kind of blubbering you have already heard a lot. Nothing is resolved with that. Resolution can only be possible with one thing, that your doors opens, that a beam of light burst forth within you, that sun arises within you. Many suns have arisen outside, many suns have set outside, now the need is for the sun to rise on you inner sky. That can happen.

You have had the courage of taking sannyas, you have done the boldness to sit and stand by my side, you have joined the relationship with me - you have shown preparation from your side, you have extended your begging bag - don't loose heart, it will become filled with flowers. However, as you have dropped questions, also drop this wish that I give you answer. Let both question-answer go. Be without question, without answer - that in itself is superconsciousness.<

Without knowing, I don't know from which gate

By what means

In a room at my home

- In a difficult, tedious fort of darkness -

Came all of a sudden a tender ray of light

Radiant, full of brilliance.

Darkness was broken in two in the middle

Astonished, delighted was my heart

It found unbounded wealth.

That ray of light was minuscule

It stayed sharp and bright

Just like it would on a heat of lamp black

The same smile and laughter stayed on lips

But, like the same laughter,

Like sensuous pleasure of a wave,

Like electrical current

It left the same way it came.

In a blink of an eye

From my desert-land

It came with flowing nectar, it poured me ambrosia.

And right in front of my eyes it vanished.

Some divine Goddess was going with candle of compassion

Was showering wealth of golden rays of light on path.

One of those rays happen to fall in here,

But, how could it have stayed -

My house was empty

It was a specimen of impenetrable jungle.

Alas! With what face could I have stopped it here

How could have I stopped it with worldly pains?

Is it any less miracle that it came;

Even that eye blinking-moment is like my one life time.

It will swing on the cradle of my mind for an unending period;

It will not slip my mind like a good deed.

Without knowing, I don't know from which gate

By what means

In a room at my home

- In a difficult, tedious fort of darkness -

Came all of a sudden a tender ray of light

Radiant, full of brilliance.

When you become silent, it comes - a ray of light, tender ray of light. Silence mean: neither question nor answer. Neither there is a need to ask anything nor a need to know anything. You are. You just are. There is not a wave of contemplation, of reflection, of thought. You are without even a wave. You are even without a judgement. So, in that moment -

Came all of a sudden a tender ray of light

Radiant, full of brilliance.

Darkness was broken in two in the middle

Astonished, delighted was my heart

It found unbounded wealth.

That ray of light was minuscule

In the very beginning the ray will come and it will go. It is natural. But slowly and gradually the ray will cajole you, it will cleanse you, it will make you worthy, it will stay with you longer, it will make more frequent stops. Slowly and gradually you and the ray will not remain two entities, you will become one. You and light will not remain two, you will become one. That oneness is the answer. To become one with light is the answer. To become one with divine is the answer.

The last question: Osho! To dance, to sing, to celebrate - is this your sutra (axiom) for bhakti (devotion?) Please say.

The very meaning of bhakti is that divine is! Then what is left? The penance is not left behind, the austerity is not left behind. Divine is! Only celebration remains - not fasting, celebrating. One who is seeking divine, one does not have trust in divine, one whose trust has not sprouted - performs penance. He takes vows, keeps fasts, chants and does penance. He performs fire ceremonies, does all kinds of rituals. Bhakta (devotee) means the one who is having an awareness that divine is. This spontaneous trust really is bhakti. Then what remains for bhakta? What should bhakta do? Should he apply ash on his body? What should bhakta do? Should he stand on top of his head? What should bhakta do? Should he flagellate his body? What should bhakta do? Divine is! As soon as this awareness descends on him, dance is an inevitable fruition. Bhakta does not really have to dance. Bhakta finds himself dancing, singing, celebrating.

What do trees do when spring comes? What would they do except to turn green? What would flowers do except to blossom? What would trees do if silver and gold begin to shower on them? What could you do when spring comes? That is how bhakta is whose spring has arrived.

Bhakti is not a discipline, it is adoration. Bhakti is not an effort to attain something, it is a gratitude for the grace which is bestowed. That is why I say unto you: "Dance, sing, celebrate - the spring is here." The ones whose spring is still not here, ones who don't have awareness of divine presence may do chants, penance, vows, discipline, whatsoever they wish to do they should. But the ones who are beginning to have this spontaneous state of feeling that divine is ... and this should happen! Don't you see that every tree is green, every ray of light is fresh! Don't you see the magnificence of stars in the sky? Is this constant, incessant great celebration that goes on not visible to you? This group-dance that is happening, surely some Krishna's flute is somewhere playing! You began to have this awareness, a subtle awareness. A faint glimpse is beginning to appear that the moment of adorning your feet with dancing bells too will come. Spring has arrived.

O night of spring! do descend and gently come from horizon

Stars interweaved like a newly braided hair

Making a fresh flower to wear in the hair

The ring of light encircling Venus hide behind dark clouds

Spread charming peals on field with your glance!

Come thee ecstatic, O spring night!

The light rhythmic pleasant sound of ankle-bells

The drones around lotus sound like tinkling belts

Quicken your feet, O lazy river!

Do pour glittering white with a little smile, O beloved!

Come thee smiling, O spring night!

Let there be a handful of memories

A chain of ecstatic dreams,

Let fragrant winds wave a shawl of drones!

Come thee and embrace the earth like a dark shadow!

Come thee shyly, O spring night!

The heart of river rises with shudder

Flowers full of nectar get to open up

These moments keep coming back head-strong

Hearing beloved's foot-steps the earth became ecstatic!

Come thee with shudder, O spring night!

Narendra! when you hear foot-steps of Master, then what to do?

Hearing beloved's foot-steps the earth became ecstatic!

This whole earth would begin to dance. It already is dancing. Everything is dancing with the exception of you. The whole existence is dancing with the exception of people full of brain.

Hearing beloved's foot-steps the earth became ecstatic!

Come thee with shudder, O spring night!

Send for spring, call out for spring, recognize spring! Bhakti is ecstasy, celebration. It is a festival of attainment. Bhakti is not an effort to find. It is an offering of songs of gratitude in the feet of One you found.

Enough for today.

Home * Current Items of Interest * About Osho * Democracy Today * Other Links * Contact Me

Translated Discourses on Dariya:* Sanskrit Words Defined * 1 * 2 * 3 * 4&5 * 6 * 7 * 8 * 9 * 10 * 11