Is love the father of devotion, or is devotion the mother of love?

The question is: “Is love the father of devotion, or is devotion the mother of love?”

Love alone is the begetter of devotion, not devotion—because devotion is the final summit. Devotion is the mother of God, not of love. Whoever attains devotion gives birth to God. Understand this a little, too. Ordinarily people think God is sitting somewhere—He is to be searched for. Make some inquiries, do a little investigation, and you will find Him. God is not sitting anywhere—you have to give birth to Him. God is not an object—He is a manifestation of your own being. And each person has to arrive at his own God. Someone else’s God will not be of any use to you. In the realm of God, adoption will not do. In this world you can even get by with what is borrowed; here you can deceive yourself. Even the barren, by borrowing children, become “givers of birth.” But this deception will not work in the world of the…

Osho, why do you liken devotion to love? Is there no other apt analogy?

I know why this question has arisen in you. For centuries your so‑called religious people have condemned love—called it base, impure, a sin. Hence you feel, “Wouldn’t some other analogy be better?” Somewhere within you there is condemnation of love—rejection, fear. I understand you—and I understand your so‑called saints as well. But the one who fears love has not understood love; the fear has arisen out of ignorance. The one who is afraid of the courtyard has not understood it. The courtyard had walls—and it had the sky; he focused on the walls and forgot the sky. I want you to focus on the sky and forget the walls. The walls are there and will remain. Man is encased in the wall of body; as long as you have a body, there will be walls. How will they disappear? You cannot get rid of even your own wall—how will you…

Osho, “You alone are the mother, you alone are the father; you alone are my kin and my friend; you alone are knowledge and wealth; you alone are everything, O Lord of Lords.” — Saroj’s salutation.

The devotee attains the end first, then discovers the means. She finds God first and then finds the path. You will say, “How strange!” What to do? “I have seen a wonder: the river caught fire.” It happens to the devotee. First God is found; then she asks him, “Now, where is the path? You tell me. Having found you, what is your address?” The meditator searches for the path first. He is more logical, more orderly. His life moves in a sequence. The devotee is guileless; love has always been guileless. In Judaism there is a very delightful notion—a path of devotion. They say: before the devotee seeks God, God has already sought the devotee. You begin your search only when he has found you; otherwise you would never begin. Only when he has somehow entered you does the longing to attain him arise; otherwise even the longing does…

Osho, to cross the ocean of becoming and dissolve into the Supreme Self, which should one rely on—insensate devotion, foolish devotion, or blind devotion?

So drop this worry—whether insensate devotion, foolish devotion, blind devotion, or deranged devotion. Drop it; devotion is enough. And in devotion all these labels will take care of themselves. Become a devotee once, and “blind” you will automatically be—meaning: the whole world will call you blind. You will not become blind; rather, you will gain eyes. You will begin to see what ordinary eyes cannot see. The invisible will become visible; the imperceptible will come within perception. That which no one has ever touched will be felt as touch. But the world will call you blind. The world will not be able to accept it—because the world is blind, and the blind call you blind. H. G. Wells has a story: somewhere in Mexico there is a valley where children go blind within three months of birth. The story is based on fact. The climate, the food—something there ruins the…

No—there is still a trace of lust in love. In devotion even that trace is gone. Understand it so: in lust there is a little love. That is why man remains entangled in lust. Perhaps one percent is love; ninety-nine percent is only lust, only craving; but that one percent gives even lust a certain beauty; it lends it an expression not its own—borrowed; it veils lust’s ugliness, gilds it; it drapes lust’s futility with a hint of meaning. In lust there is a tiny fraction of love. And in love there is a small fraction of lust. They are connected. Therefore love is not yet pure love; something alien is still in it. Even love carries a little lust. Think of it this way: the lustful man falls into lust; because of lust, a little love appears. The lover dives into love; because of love, lust enters.