How to die utterly without grief?

Osho, you say, “As He wills, let us become mere instruments; whatever role in life we have been given, let us fulfill it.” But letting what happens happen—i.e., flowing along with the body, mind, and ego—gives rise to suffering. So should we keep applying the principle of instrumentality even in relation to the body, mind, and ego, and go on suffering? How do we solve the riddle between the principle of instrumentality and the continuous reality of suffering?

That supreme bliss is beyond both pleasure and pain. It is neither like night nor like day. It is twilight. The sun has set, night has not yet come; the light remains—very gentle, sweet, non-aggressive—that is twilight. Morning has come, the sun is not yet risen, the night has gone—such is the twilight. One who abides in that twilight—that is what we call prayer. That is why Hindus call their prayer sandhya. Sandhya means one who has stopped in between the dualities, who has found the truce between the two. Between pleasure and pain, love and hate, victory and defeat, night and day, life and death—one who has found the pact and stands in that concord. Seek that interval of conjunction. Krishna says, it is simple to find. If you cease to be the doer, you will find it instantly. It is only through your doer-ship that you keep missing.…

Osho, “Slay me, O Lord, slay me; I long for death. Slay me with that death by which Rajneesh died upon seeing.” I am so much a stone that I cannot fully melt. I am restless. What should I do?

A man came to Ramakrishna and said, “I am going on pilgrimage, to bathe in the Ganges. What do you say?” Ramakrishna said, “Go, brother, fine—but keep one thing in mind. Have you seen the big trees on the banks of the Ganges?” “Yes.” “Why are they standing there?” “How should I know? Trees stand—what kind of question is that?” Ramakrishna said, “I’ll tell you the secret. You go with the bundle of your sins on your back and take a dip in Mother Ganges. As you dip, by her grace, the sins fall away. But sins don’t leave you so easily; they perch on the trees. They say, ‘Son, how long will you stay under water? Come out, and we’ll ride you again.’ You come out, and they jump back on. So all becomes as before. Keep an eye on those trees—if you dip, don’t come out again!” The…

Osho, you said the truth of life is death. Then what is the truth of death?

Buddha called this the state of suchness—accepting what is, as it is. No yes-and-no. No imposing your desire that it be like this or like that. As it is, let it be as it is. Kabir said: Just as it is—accept it as such. Because as long as you reject, you are fighting life—you are contending with God. You are trying to impose your will. You are not a seeker of truth; your ego is still thick. In accepting what is, as it is, the ego dissolves; there remains no place for it. The struggle is gone, the ego is gone. Ramana lay down. He consented: If death comes, it comes. What is in my hands? “Jih vidhi rākhe Rām, tih vidhi rahiye”—In whatever way Ram keeps you, remain that way. If death has come, it has come. This is how Ram wishes to take me—so be it. He was…

Osho, forget even talking about death—I am afraid of the very word. How can one get rid of death?

Kusum Rani! There is no getting rid of death. One will have to die! Death is the other side of the same coin as birth. Once you are born—once you have taken one side of the coin—how can you avoid the other? Death already happened in birth. It may take you seventy years to find out, that’s all; but the event has already occurred. The very day a child is born, cry then and there; death has arrived. Now, whether anything else happens in life or not, one thing is certain: there will be death. Life is wondrous! In it, nothing is certain except death. Everything else is uncertain—may or may not be; but death will surely be. However much you run and hide, no one can escape death, no one can outrun it. And the more you fear, the more you die. Death comes only once, but to the…

Osho, we don’t know how to keep the ritual of your gathering; we don’t know how to smear ourselves with the ash of our own body. O Osho, you who teach the way to die, listen: we don’t know how to die before we die.

If you learn the art of dying, each morning you will find you are a child again. Butterflies call again; the dew speaks again; pearls are scattered all around once more; moon and stars turn mysterious. What does childhood mean? Innocence—no self-consciousness yet. Whoever learns to die every day wins the taste and doorway to childhood day after day. The delight that was in self-forgetfulness—where is it? We came to our senses, and we saw. You ask, “Before death we cannot die.” If you die only when you are killed—what art is that! Everyone dies when they are killed—dogs and cats, men and women. If you die only when death slays you, what will be your mastery? What will be your worth? That mighty Bhima, of whom it is told There dwelt the strength of sixty thousand elephants— He could not lift a single piece of wood off his chest…