Did Rabindranath's longing and creative angst become an obstacle to his enlightenment?

Beloved Osho, was rabindrinath's longing, his creative angst, the very thing that in the end became an obstacle to his enlightenment? Am I also destined to die with tears in my eyes, and a pocket full of songs?

Milarepa, a poet is not in search of truth. His search is for beauty, and through the search for beauty nobody has ever become enlightened. One can become a great poet, a great painter, a great singer, a great dancer; but on the path of beauty, enlightenment is not possible. The seeker of truth, and only the seeker of truth, attains to enlightenment. And this is the miracle of enlightenment, that once you have discovered truth, then beauty, the good, and all that is valuable simply become available to you. Beauty cannot lead to enlightenment, but enlightenment opens your eyes to all dimensions and all directions. Rabindranath was very close to enlightenment, but his search was not for enlightenment -- he was searching for the beautiful. And the search for the beautiful, deep down, is the search for expressing beauty -- in words, in music, in dance, in any kind…

Osho! You say the poet is close to the seer. Yet it is surprising that even poets and artists with such sensitive hearts—who have set out in life seeking satyam, shivam, sundaram—hesitate to come here. You say meditation deepens sensitivity. Then what are these poets and artists afraid of? Are meditation and creation not possible together?

Arun Satyarthi! The poet is certainly close to the rishi. Poet means: one who has begun to receive glimpses of the Divine. Rishi means: one who has become one with it. Poet means: one who has seen, from afar, the snow-white peaks of the Himalayas. Rishi means: one who has made his home upon those peaks. Between the poet and Truth there is a slight distance; the rishi is one with Truth. But without being a poet no one becomes a rishi. Though not all poets become seers, all seers are bound to be poets. One can choose to cling to the glimpses, to revel in them. The poet is showered by a drizzle; the rishi is drenched in a cloudburst. The poet, you can say, lives by ponds and pools; the rishi is merged into the ocean—he becomes the ocean. Yet a poet may mistake his pond for the…

Beloved Osho, this poem from 'gitanjali' by rabindranath tagore echoes in my heart: I am here to sing thee songs. In this hall of thine I have a corner seat. In thy world I have no work to do: my useless life can only break out in tunes without a purpose. The song I came to sing remains unsung to this day. I have spent my days in stringing and unstringing my instrument. The time has not come true. The words have not been rightly set. Only there is the agony of wishing, in my heart. The blossom has not opened: only the wind is sighing by.

Milarepa, it is one of the destinies of those who are born with genius. A genius never finds that what he has created is enough. He is always discontented. He goes on creating more and more beautiful things, but nothing satisfies; he knows that he has much more to give. His heart has to pour out more songs, more paintings, more music. He is fully aware that whatever he does falls short of the target; his target is such a faraway star. It is not just about Rabindranath Tagore -- these words are true about any genius in any part of the world, in any time, in any age. These words are the very essence of the discontent -- because the painter feels in his dreams that he can paint something unique that has never been done before. It is so clear in his dreams, but the moment he starts…

Beloved Osho, this verse I send to you from "gitanjali." it is so beautiful, like you, master. "I know not how thou singest, my master, I ever listen in silent amazement. The light of thy music illumines the world, the life breath of thy music runs from sky to sky, the holy stream of thy music breaks through all stony obstacles and rushes on. My heart longs to join in thy song, but vainly struggles for voice. I would speak, but speech breaks not into song, and I cry out baffled, ah, thou has made my heart captive in the endless meshes of thy music, my master."

Although Rabindranath has given such beautiful songs that there is no comparison, he had a comparison which nobody from the outside had any idea about. He had a song deep in his soul, very alive, ready to burst forth, and he always compared his songs with his inner feeling. He found that what he wanted to express had remained behind. Although he had been able to put together beautiful words, the life was no longer in them, the heart was no longer beating in them. They are faraway echoes of the song he wanted to sing. I KNOW NOT HOW THOU SINGEST, MY MASTER. He is asking God Himself... I KNOW NOT HOW THOU SINGEST, MY MASTER. I EVER LISTEN IN SILENT AMAZEMENT. THE LIGHT OF THY MUSIC ILLUMINES THE WORLD, THE LIFE BREATH OF THY MUSIC RUNS FROM SKY TO SKY, THE HOLY STREAM OF THY MUSIC BREAKS THROUGH…

Question: Third question: Osho, the great poet Rabindranath bound his realization of liberation into a beautiful song: “Through the practice of renunciation, the liberation that comes is not mine. In the midst of countless bonds I shall taste the bliss of freedom! The clay vessels of this earth, filled again and again, will pour ceaselessly your nectar, tinged with manifold colors and scents. Like lamps, the whole world will set alight my myriad wicks with your very flame, to illumine your temple. The yoga that seals the doors of the senses is not mine. Whatever joy there is in sight, in fragrance, in song — within that your joy will abide. My delusion will flare up as my liberation; my love will ripen as my devotion.” Osho, please grace us with your words on this utterance of the great poet.