Is it necessary to pass through the state of separation for union with the Divine?

Osho, is it necessary to pass through the state of separation for union with the Divine?

I wrote and sent countless letters, still, cruel one, you did not come. The desolate garden’s days rolled by, dark monsoon clouds kept gathering; the henna beds breathed fragrance, the thresholds rang with birdsong, the neem in the courtyard flowered, the mango grove at home bloomed. Everything spoke—only you were silent; I sat alone, my heart caged. Laughter lost, joy lost, sleep was sold, peace squandered. At whose temple shall I wave the lamp? At whose door shall I surrender? To whom shall I send my silent messages, to whom my tender invitation? I wrote and sent countless letters, none ever returned to me. All came—only you did not; why this cruel spell upon me? Such intense longing took hold, such efforts did it compel. The threshold fell hush and mute, the latch kept clicking, waiting; the clouds swayed low and bowed, the rains held back, still waiting. Whenever your…

Osho! I set out to seek the Beloved; how is union with the Beloved attained?

Yog Neelam! The Beloved is not far. Not even so far that any meeting would be needed. There has only been forgetfulness, not separation. Separation cannot be. The Beloved abides within. He is the breath of our breath, the heartbeat of our heart. Without him we have no being. Because he is, we are. As the ocean is, so the waves are. The ocean can be without waves, but the waves cannot be without the ocean. Yet a wave can fall into a delusion—the delusion that “I am separate from the ocean.” In that very delusion, forgetfulness happens. Only forgetfulness happens; separation cannot. The whole search for the Beloved is nothing but remembrance—re-remembering. That is why the saints have called this search surati. Surati means remembrance, recollection. Surati is the folk form of the word smriti. What the Buddha called smriti, by the time of Kabir and Nanak became surati—dearer,…

Beloved Osho, we are part and parcel of god, and indestructible too. Please explain when, why and how this part got separated from the root? And reuniting the part to the root -- is it possible there is a union that cannot be separated? If it is possible then please join this part to the root so that I don't have to be frightened in this chaos again and again.

If you ask me I will say that meditation is not a method to attain God; God can be attained without meditation too. Meditation is a training to endure God. Meditation gives you the capacity to withstand. When you enter ultimate aloneness you will be completely alone. No radio, no television, no newspaper -- no friend, no club, no society -- nothing at all. You will be completely alone. Prepare for that aloneness. I am ready to take you out of this chaos, but are you ready? When you sit alone your head starts creating this same chaos. The friends that renounce their homes start talking to themselves. In their head they start talking to the wife they left behind. The whole crowd is collected again. Webs of imagination are woven. You cannot remain alone; hence you return again and again. You do not return to the world without cause.…

Question: The last question: Osho, why is there separation from the Divine? Only from the human side. Not the slightest from the Divine side. It is forgetfulness, not separation. If separation had happened, then yoga would not be possible—how would union happen then? Where would you search for him? You wouldn’t even know his whereabouts. You wouldn’t even know his name and abode. Which direction would you go? Then there would be darkness everywhere; with what lamp would you search? Whom would you search for? And even if you met him on the way, how would you recognize him? What recognition would there be? No, separation has not happened. If separation had happened, then union could never happen. Union is possible precisely because separation has not happened—only forgetfulness has.

Osho, when I listen to you, every word sinks to the depths of my heart and stirs me. But when I read you, it remains a mental game. Please tell me why this happens.

It’s plain. The arithmetic is simple. When you read, only you are there; I am not. What you read is nothing but you. It becomes a game of the mind. When you listen to me, then sometimes—knowingly or unknowingly—I also slip into you. You seldom give such a chance, but now and then a lapse happens on your side. Unaware, you leave the door a little open—and I come in. So when you are hearing me, it’s a different matter. That is why truth has always been spoken, not written. It cannot be written. Even speaking it is very difficult, yet it can still be said—at least a little can be said, a little news can be given. Because in speaking, many elements are involved that are lost in writing. When you read a book, the book is dead. A book cannot create an atmosphere around you. A book has…