Should there be any practice of idealized living to bring about awareness?

Osho, you said that all ideals are wrong. But is the ideal of attaining one’s destination, one’s destiny, equally wrong?

An ideal is wrong; it makes no difference what you make an ideal of. “Ideal” means: it will happen in the future. “Ideal” means: tomorrow. “Ideal” means: it is not available today. An ideal is postponement—for the future. What is your destiny does not need to be made into an ideal; it is bound to happen—it has, in a way, already happened. Destiny means your intrinsic nature. That which is wholly available to you in this moment is your destiny. All ideals are anti-destiny. The very meaning of an ideal is that you want to be what, in your heart of hearts, you know you cannot be. A rose becomes a rose; a lotus becomes a lotus. Nowhere in the lotus’s heart is there an ideal, “I must become a lotus.” If the lotus tried to become a lotus, it would go mad—and fail. What you are, you already are—from…

Osho, you and Shri Krishnamurti seem very opposed to having ideals in life. It is true that ideals create a great deal of hypocrisy. But if we look from the other end, the danger appears that without the challenge of ideals, growth will become impossible. There will be no difference between human and animal. So is the mistake in choosing the wrong ideals? Would you be gracious enough to say something on this?

By “ideal” you mean: distant stars in the sky… to become this, to become that. In that race of becoming you forget how you are. What is, gets forgotten; what should be, fixes your gaze. But what is—that alone is real. A man has tuberculosis—that is the reality. He “should” be healthy, he should be a wrestler like Muhammad Ali or Gama—that is an ideal. So he hangs Gama’s picture at home, does a daily arati to it. And he has TB—rotting within—while his eyes are fixed on Gama’s picture! What will come of it? Will TB vanish? The truth is: because of it, the very means of release from TB is lost. Your eye is not on TB; it is stuck on Gama’s picture. Your eye should have been on TB—then something could be done, treatment could happen. A man is burning with anger and sits with the ideal…

Osho, “By continual practice the dull-witted become wise. As the rope goes to and fro, it carves marks in the stone.” Does one also need some practice to attain the divine? Please clarify.

Some people, when they have to think, start scratching their heads. Hold their hand and don’t let them scratch, and they’re in trouble—they can’t think. “Let go of my hand, or my thinking is ruined!” It’s a mechanical habit. Someone must light a cigarette to think; as the smoke begins, thinking becomes easier. Snatch the cigarette and he’s disoriented—“What do I do now?” Another person must ring the temple bell every morning, wave the plate of offerings. Keep him from entering the temple for a day and he is upset all day. You think there is a difference between scratching the head, ringing the bell, smoking a cigarette? There is none. Dr. Hari Singh Gaur had a habit—he told me this story himself—that whenever he argued a deep point before the Privy Council, he would twirl the button of his coat. If his fingers found that button, his brain worked…

Osho, I practice self-analysis, “introspection,” to awaken the witnessing. Is this right as a first step? Kindly explain.

That is why you see: the wife is happily sitting, listening to the radio, knitting her sweater; the moment the horn honks downstairs—husband has arrived—she lies down: “I have a headache.” Don’t think she’s faking; it really happens. I’m not saying she is deceiving—this has become her habit. The husband’s horn is enough to trigger a headache. Association has formed. Don’t think I say she’s cheating. Perhaps in the beginning she faked it; now that is long past—now it’s a habit. As the husband comes, the headache rises—because only when she has a headache does the husband put his hand on her head. Otherwise, who puts his hand on his wife’s head! Someone might put a hand on another’s wife; who puts a hand on his own! Only when the wife is troubled does the husband show a little sympathy. Love is gone; now only sympathy keeps things moving. The…

Osho, in the context of the practice of heedfulness (apramad), please explain the similarities and differences among the practices of witnessing, awareness, and tathata.

One more thought on tathata. A Zen fakir wrote a small song: “The geese fly across the sky. They have no desire that their reflections be formed in the still lake below. Yet the reflections form. The blue lake has no desire to catch the reflections of the geese. Yet the reflections are caught. Then the geese fly on and the reflections also fly away. The geese do not know they were caught in the lake; the lake does not know that the reflections aroused any curiosity, any stir, any disturbance in its bosom.” Tathata means such a being. Things happen. He is ready for all—wants to do nothing and has no complaint. That is why one of Buddha’s names is Tathagata. He loved that name. Even speaking of himself he would say, “The Tathagata passed through a certain village.” Tathagata means one who has attained tathata—thus come, thus gone.…