Is meditation necessary for a poet, and what form did Rabindranath Tagore and Khalil Gibran practice?

Osho, for a poet to enter within, is the practice of meditation necessary along with poetic creation? If it is necessary, then what form of meditation did Rabindranath Tagore and Khalil Gibran rely on in their lives? If it is not necessary, then tell us how poetic creation itself can become a life-practice, so that the poet need not slip inside like a thief, but may also enjoy entering the temple as a guest.

To call God “the Creator” is a very sweet expression—not because it solves some philosophical riddle; it solves nothing, it only increases puzzles. For me the meaning is altogether different: the emphasis is not on God but on creativeness. It means: whoever becomes a creator becomes divine. Creativeness is not a mere attribute of God; it is God’s very nature. Whenever you are able to bring something into being, a thrill, a joy, an ah! fills you. Unfortunate are those who never create anything in their lives, who have never made anything and never tasted the joy of making; for whom nothing of creation ever happened—no two lines of a song, no sculpture, no painting. Such people are unfortunate. So if the doorway to beauty has opened with your very birth, then no other practice is needed. Art itself will become your meditation. By drowning in art you will find…

Osho! You say the poet is close to the seer. Yet it is surprising that even poets and artists with such sensitive hearts—who have set out in life seeking satyam, shivam, sundaram—hesitate to come here. You say meditation deepens sensitivity. Then what are these poets and artists afraid of? Are meditation and creation not possible together?

Arun Satyarthi! The poet is certainly close to the rishi. Poet means: one who has begun to receive glimpses of the Divine. Rishi means: one who has become one with it. Poet means: one who has seen, from afar, the snow-white peaks of the Himalayas. Rishi means: one who has made his home upon those peaks. Between the poet and Truth there is a slight distance; the rishi is one with Truth. But without being a poet no one becomes a rishi. Though not all poets become seers, all seers are bound to be poets. One can choose to cling to the glimpses, to revel in them. The poet is showered by a drizzle; the rishi is drenched in a cloudburst. The poet, you can say, lives by ponds and pools; the rishi is merged into the ocean—he becomes the ocean. Yet a poet may mistake his pond for the…

Osho, you said in reply to the great poet Rabindranath Tagore that beyond the seven skies there is no personal God who listens to your prayer; all prayers remain unheard. The great poet sang innumerable songs of prayer; who knows whether anyone listened to them or not; but I feel that at least one of his prayers was surely heard. The prayer is as follows:

“I will not become an ascetic, I will not, I will not—no matter what anyone says. I will not become an ascetic, certainly not, if I do not find the Tapasvini. I have taken a hard vow: if I do not find the bakul grove, if I do not find the one whose heart matches mine, then I will not become an ascetic, I will not, if I do not find that Tapasvini. I will not abandon home; I will not become an outward, indifferent renunciate if, outside the house, no one laughs a world-bewitching laugh, if in the sweet breeze the blue veil does not fly, playfully restless, if bracelets and anklets do not ring, tinkle-tinkle— I will not become an ascetic, I will not, if I do not find that Tapasvini. By your oath, I will not become an ascetic, if by the power of that tapas I…

Beloved Osho, this poem from 'gitanjali' by rabindranath tagore echoes in my heart: I am here to sing thee songs. In this hall of thine I have a corner seat. In thy world I have no work to do: my useless life can only break out in tunes without a purpose. The song I came to sing remains unsung to this day. I have spent my days in stringing and unstringing my instrument. The time has not come true. The words have not been rightly set. Only there is the agony of wishing, in my heart. The blossom has not opened: only the wind is sighing by.

Milarepa, it is one of the destinies of those who are born with genius. A genius never finds that what he has created is enough. He is always discontented. He goes on creating more and more beautiful things, but nothing satisfies; he knows that he has much more to give. His heart has to pour out more songs, more paintings, more music. He is fully aware that whatever he does falls short of the target; his target is such a faraway star. It is not just about Rabindranath Tagore -- these words are true about any genius in any part of the world, in any time, in any age. These words are the very essence of the discontent -- because the painter feels in his dreams that he can paint something unique that has never been done before. It is so clear in his dreams, but the moment he starts…

What is creativity? Does it correspond more to the path of awareness or to the path of love? Or is it a child of both?

Now this is simply a theory, an insight; we have not yet been able to devise a spaceship which can move with that speed. But scientists say that theoretically it seems right -- but only theoretically. Now how did Einstein arrive at it? -- because there is no possibility for experimentation. Obviously, it is not the conclusion of an experiment; you cannot do any experiment. No spaceship is there which moves with such speed. In fact, it may never be possible to have such a spaceship; there are difficulties. The most difficult thing is: whenever a thing moves at that speed it turns into light. At that speed the heat is so much that no spaceship can move at that speed, because the heat would burn it out. Just the friction -- one hundred and eighty-six thousand miles per second -- the very friction would be enough, and the spaceship…