Am I worthy to take sannyas, and has the auspicious moment arrived?

Osho, I want to take sannyas. Am I worthy, and has the auspicious moment arrived?

And because I don’t tell you to leave your home, there is an added difficulty. Mahavira did not give his people as much trouble as I am giving you. Buddha did not give as much trouble. I am putting you in a very paradoxical arrangement: making you a sannyasin and not separating you from the home. You will sit at your shop in ochre robes—it will be a great awkwardness. In ochre you can sit in the forest—there is no trouble then. At a shop you do not sit in ochre—there is no trouble then. I am creating a contradiction in your life. I am saying: live in water and be like a lotus. The rose has no such difficulty; it doesn’t live in water. The lotus has the difficulty—to be in water and untouched by water. To be in the marketplace and untouched by the market. To be in…

Question: First question: Osho, I want to take sannyas; when should I take it? I have heard an amazing story. There was a wondrous true master named Fachang. His entire teaching was only this: “Now, here.” Just two words. The emperor had invited him to Japan to give discourses. He stood on the platform—the emperor seated, his courtiers present, a great arrangement; Fachang was a famous master. He struck the table loudly and said, “Now, here.” He stepped down and left. The emperor was startled. He asked his ministers, “What is this? What kind of discourse is this—banging the table and saying ‘Now and here’? What does it mean?” The ministers said, “Your Majesty, that is his whole teaching. In it he has said all that the Buddhas of all times have said.” If you are to do the auspicious—now and here.

Osho, the feeling for sannyas arises, and then the mind runs away. I can’t decide whether to take sannyas or not! Because it feels as if I’d be deceiving myself. It seems to me that I am not worthy of taking sannyas.

Three years passed. He thought and thought, listing hundreds of reasons pro and con: If I marry, these gains, these losses; if I don’t, these gains, these losses. In the end he found one extra gain in marrying—experience. And one loss in not marrying—no experience. The pan tilted. After three years he knocked on her door. Her father opened it. Kant said, “I have finally decided—one reason more on this side; I will marry.” The father laughed. “Too late. My daughter is married—and already has a child. You came far too late. Think again. And if someone else proposes, have your decision ready beforehand; don’t take so long.” He never married—no one else proposed. If you live by thinking, you’ll end up trivial. The vast requires a leap, not thinking. It requires courage—the gambler’s heart, not a shopkeeper’s book-keeping. Jamuna Singh, if you want to take it, take it. If…

Osho, how do I take sannyas? I keep thinking and then I stop. What is this hesitation?

One night a thief broke into Mulla Nasruddin’s house. While the thief gathered things, Mulla quickly spread his blanket on the floor. When the thief, ready to tie up the loot, looked for a sheet to wrap it in, he found a blanket laid out. He was a bit scared—when he had entered, there had been no blanket on the floor. He’d seen a man sleeping under it; now that man lay on the bed without the blanket, and the blanket was on the floor! But it wasn’t the time to ponder. He tied his bundle and set off. Mulla got up and followed. Hearing footsteps, the thief turned and saw the same man who had been on the bed—first under the blanket, then without it. The thief got nervous and said, “Why are you following me?” Mulla said, “Why not follow? I was the only one left back there!…

It is asked: “I haven’t met you personally yet, and still I am filled with strange feelings toward you. Sometimes I cry; sometimes I just keep gazing at you.”

The friend who has asked—this is a new, fresh contact. New experiences are rising in it. Before these experiences lose their meaning, before these waves become inert, before you slowly accept even these waves and they, too, grow old—take the leap. “Sometimes I cry; sometimes I just keep gazing at you.” Tears are a sign that the connection is being made through the heart. If it were made through the intellect, tears would never come. If the connection is through the head, at most one nods: “Right”; or if not, one shakes the head: “Wrong.” Only the skull nods a little. Tears have nothing to do with the head. Tears flow from the eyes—but they come from the heart, from the innermost core. Tears are more meaningful—than doctrines, ideas, sects. Tears are more meaningful. Tears bring the news that the heart has been struck, something within has trembled. Before the…