Is there a need for lectures?

Osho, when you are giving a discourse, if I gaze at your face the words are not heard; and if I listen to the words, a kind of restlessness is felt. Why is this so?

Words are not of much value. Even if the words are not heard, it is all right; even if they are heard, there is no real gain. If you look toward me, it becomes meditation. If the meditation becomes right, if the wire is connected, the words will stop being heard—because to hear words, a restless mind is needed, an agitated, unquiet mind. In that moment—when the connection is made—the soundless will begin to be heard; that is the real satsang. It is not of much value that you hear what I say. If you can hear what I am, only then does it have value. Speaking is just a pretext; words are only devices. The arrival is into the soundless; the awakening is in silence. If this is happening, then drop all concern for words; just keep looking at me. Let the flame be joined. Forget that I am…

Osho, if silence has so much power, why does anyone speak at all? If silence has great power and silence is everything, then why are words spoken? Why does anyone speak?

Silence does have great power, but there has to be someone who can hear silence! Why does the need to speak arise? It arises because I see you heading toward a pit. I see that you will fall into it and break your arms and legs. I am standing here; I could say it to you from silence, but you don’t have ears to hear silence. So I shout, “You’ll fall into the pit!” In that, is my power lost? Is there any harm in that? No, no, no—nothing is lost. The one who has come to know power never loses anything. The one who has not known keeps losing everything. The one who has known never loses anything. In whatever form, to speak of the wordless we use words... That is exactly what I am saying: the difficulty is that if I write something like an autobiography, it will…

Osho, for forty years continuously Buddha gave discourses and sermons, and it is said that he did not speak a single word. Likewise, you too have been speaking and giving discourses for twenty years, and it could be said that you do not speak a single word. Is this true?

There is a sweet story about Mahavira. The Jains, in their rigidity, clung to the letter and missed the essence. The story is that Mahavira never spoke, and yet people heard. This is a difficult matter: Mahavira did not speak, yet people heard. Mahavira did not speak in any language that the ears can hear. The Jains say his speech is soundless—nishabd. There are no words in it. Yet people heard—those who could. If they too became wordless, sat near Mahavira in silence, they heard. Therefore there is another story in Mahavira’s life, important to note: wild animals heard him, gods of the sky came to listen, birds and beasts came, ghosts and spirits were present. The Jains have great difficulty explaining how birds and beasts can hear. Certainly, if Mahavira spoke in a language, then even among humans only those who knew that tongue could understand. If I am…

Question: First question: Osho, truth cannot be spoken—then why do saints speak? Words make you a student. For another kind of knowing, another kind of hearing—deeper than words—you must become a disciple. Then merely being curious will not do; you must become a yearning one for liberation. Soon you will find that even yearning is not enough; you must become a practitioner. Then you will descend, slowly, into depth. But the journey begins with words. You have come to me; for no other reason. A word called you. The first letter reached you through a word. There are people here who have come from unknown far-off lands. A book fell into their hands; somewhere a word reached them. That word stirred something within; a nectar welled up. Then they traced that word to its source and came—journeying from afar. Now further bonds can be forged.

Osho, you say the same thing in countless ways. But when I listen to you, it feels as if I am hearing it for the first time. And I feel so much joy that I don’t feel like going back home. What should I do—what can I do—so that I can just keep listening to you!

You will feel as if you have been made to rise out of season, before time—as if you were not yet to go and yet had to go. And if you go in that way, your home will become even more desolate than before. I do not want to make your home desolate; I want to make your home a temple. I want that when you go home, your home’s new form is revealed. I do not want to tear you away from home, from the world, from family life. That is the newness of my sannyas: I do not want to sever you from the world; I want to join you to the world in such a way that your connection with the world becomes a connection with the Divine. Let the world no longer be a barrier between you and the Divine; let it become a means. If…