No, drips don’t make a temple alive; only real inner presence does.
From the Discourses
Passages where Osho speaks to this question — each links to the complete discourse.
Osho, in some temples water keeps dripping on its own over the idol. Is that a sign that the temple is living?
No; such things as water have nothing to do with it. Water keeps dripping even without the idol’s consecration; and even if you place an idol there, it can still drip. There is no great difficulty in that; it’s no big issue. These are all false proofs on the basis of which we assume consecration has happened. These are all false proofs on the basis of which we assume consecration has happened. Dripping water and such have nothing to do with it. Even where absolutely no water falls, there are living temples; they can be there too. Initiation is not given—it happens.
In some temples, water trickles down naturally over the images. Is this a sign that such a temple is a living temple?
No. The validity of a living temple has nothing to do with this. The water will trickle whether there is an image underneath it or not. These are false proofs, and because of them we assume that a temple is a living one. Where not a drop of water falls, still there are temples that could be and are living temples.
Osho, temples, pilgrimages, tilak and forehead marks, image-worship, rosaries, mantra–tantra, scriptures and Puranas, fire-offerings and Vedic sacrifices, rites, shraddha, planets and constellations, astrological calculations, omens and portents—these once had meaning, but now seem futile. Please explain them and tell us: were they merely outer instruments of sadhana? Merely external arrangements for remembering, which time’s swift pace uprooted? Or did they also have inner interrelations? Will time consent to take them up again?
In the life of Moses it is said: he went up the mountain and saw a divine fire—a bush aflame, fire all around, yet flowers blooming and leaves green within. Seeking God, Moses rushed forward, and a voice cried from the bush, “Fool, leave your shoes beyond the boundary!” There was no boundary—open wilderness. He looked, “Where is the boundary?” He experienced: “Here it is—up to where Moses is Moses; a step further, and something changes.” He left his shoes and sought forgiveness: “Pardon me; I entered holy ground with shoes.” That is the magnetic field. The temple has a circle—an enchanted domain—with a very living use for the village. And it bore fruit. For thousands of years, the innocence and purity of Indian village life owed less to the villagers than to the charged temple. The poorest village was wretched without a temple. However poor, a temple it must…
Today I would request Osho to guide us on idol worship.
A Japanese seeker from Soto Zen told me of a practice: twenty-four hours a day the disciple intones “Muuuu… muuu…” After days, the sound storms inside; thoughts drop. By three weeks, the roaring “Muuuu!” possesses him. Food, sleep fall away; guards must watch him. At the final climax, a last thunderous roar—and suddenly all is still. For days he lies in deep quiet. When he returns, the old man is dead; a new man stands—continuity with the past broken. Om is such a sound; every religion has its own. As worship deepens, sound transforms consciousness. Repetition is crucial. If you sing one hymn one day, another the next, there will be no results. Continuous blows on one point drive the nail. But beware of mechanical repetition—then it is wasted labor. If the sound becomes your very life, every cell, bone, blood crying it—then sound can open the door. And all…
He has also asked: Can you not give me sannyas without the ochre robes?
Tomorrow you will say to me—what will meditation do? Can you not give me sannyas without meditation? What will prayer do? Can I not be a sannyasin without prayer? It is only a gesture, a pointer. Say what you like—if it is “madness,” then let it be this kind of madness. A devotee goes to give himself. Therefore the one who gives cannot set conditions. Devotion is surrender; surrender can only be unconditional. Yesterday I saw in the magazine Dharmyug an article on one of my sannyasinis, Preeti. The reporter used a phrase I liked—rang Rajneeshi, “the Rajneesh hue.” That pleased me. It is not “ochre”—it is the Rajneesh hue! Only when there is readiness for that hue does sannyas become possible; only when the mind is willing to let go to that extent. And much more will have to be dropped—this is only the beginning. It is as if…