How can I forget the days spent in love?

Osho, again and again I try to explain things to my mind, but I cannot make it understand. How am I to forget the days I spent with you in love! Again and again your love returns to me. You tell me to forget the past; but that is not in my power. You have become detached. Now I have nothing left but these tears. No one has ever given me as much love as you have. And the mind keeps saying: When will you come?

It is Sohan’s question. Explaining will only increase the tangle. There is no need to explain; explaining does not bring understanding. And for Sohan, cleverness cannot be the way. Live in unknowing! And if remembrance comes, don’t try to push it away. Dive into it completely. If remembrance brings pain, let the pain be; cry, weep your heart out, let the tears flow! Those tears will purify. Tears shed on the path of love purify. And such remembrance is not worry; it is the heart’s own upwelling. The obstacle arises because the mind keeps advising, “Let go; remembrance brings pain. The memory of love hurts.” It is the intellect that keeps interfering. Nothing will be solved by obeying this intellect. The intellect never wins over the heart if the heart is strong. And Sohan has a strong heart. Let the intellect keep barking; the heart will walk its own way.…

Question: OSHO, MEMORY CAN'T RECALL YOUR FACE, SO LOVE COMES, FACELESS. UNFAMILIAR IS THE PART OF ME THAT LOVES YOU. SHE HAS NO NAME, AND SHE COMES AND GOES AND WHEN GONE, I WIPE MY TEAR-STAINED FACE SO THAT IT REMAINS A SECRET. LOVE IS A MYSTERY -- the greatest mystery there is. It can be lived, but it cannot be known; it can be tasted, experienced, but cannot be understood. It is something beyond understanding, something that surpasses all understanding. Hence mind cannot take any note of it. It never becomes a memory -- memory is nothing but notes taken by the mind; memory is traces, footprints left in the mind. Love has no body, it is bodiless. It leaves no footprints. In Indian mythology, the god of love is known as Anang -- ANANG means without body.

Osho, you tell us to love. I too loved; I was defeated, and the wounds have still not healed. Society did not like that love, and my beloved was weak; she bowed before society. I cannot even forgive her. And yet you still tell us to love?

I do not tell you to do love—I tell you to be love. Doing is a small, petty thing. There, only defeat and wounds will come to your hand. And it is good that society put an obstacle in your way; otherwise, as in the story I just told you, by now you would be celebrating your silver jubilee. Society showed you great kindness. Thank society. Take it as grace. And you cannot forgive that woman! What kind of love is this that cannot forgive! What kind of love is this that is full of revenge! And these wounds are not precious wounds. They do not go very deep. They are on the surface—like scratched skin. They are no deeper than the skin. All these heal. Time heals them. Do not sit clutching them. Friend, do not be disheartened! Affairs have often kept forming and breaking. Why those starry tears…

Osho, ever since I listened to your words, I’ve fallen into great difficulty. My tears do not stop. The remembrance remains with me every moment. What is happening to me? People say I should leave you—and even that seems impossible.

It is the beginning of love—why are you crying? Just wait and see what lies ahead! It is only the beginning. Only the first steps have been taken. Do not be afraid. Do not worry. Until love has dragged you through disgrace, a man is of no real use. Until love ruins you, defames you, a man is not of any worth at all. You ask, “What has happened to me?” Love has happened to you. Your feeling is turning into devotion. And this comes only by great good fortune. By destiny alone one receives the pain of love; here, only those who die in love have truly fared well. Those who die in love attain the immortal. And this wound, this anguish, comes by great fortune; it does not come to everyone. If tears come, turn them into prayer. Why complain of separation? Why weep over pain? Now that…

Osho, My only wish is to merge into a speck of dust, so that I may lie near the temple and, as you come and go, sometimes cling to your blessed feet.

Veena! What you have asked for has already happened. Often it is so that even what has happened does not come to our notice. The experience occurs in the heart; by the time the news reaches the mind, it takes time. Sometimes it takes years. And sometimes lifetimes. There can even be a distance of births. For a heart’s experience to be expressed in the mind’s web of words is not an easy matter. The heart’s experience is silent—an undercurrent of humming, an unheard song, wordless; a stream of feeling freed from language. How is the mind to understand it? The mind understands words, arguments, thought; it has no movement in feeling. For the mind, feeling simply does not exist. And the supreme religious experience is of feeling, of the heart. Therefore the mind remains barren, hollow. If a little echo reaches it, that is much. If a slight shadow…