What does the attraction and fear of death mean?

Osho, I am afraid of death, yet at the same time it has an incredible attraction for me. What does it mean?

DEATH IS THE GREATEST MYSTERY OF LIFE. Life has many mysteries, but there is nothing comparable to death. Death is the climax, the crescendo. One is afraid of it because one will be lost, one will dissolve in it. One is afraid of it because of the ego -- the ego cannot survive death. It will be left on this shore when you start moving towards the other; it cannot go with you. And the ego is all that you know about yourself, hence the fear, great fear: "I will not exist in death." But there is great attraction too. The ego will be lost, but not your reality. In fact, death will reveal to you your true identity; death will take away all your masks and will reveal your original face. Death will for the first time make it possible for you to encounter your innermost, interiormost subjectivity as…

Osho, when you speak of your death I begin to tremble. Master, we cannot bear to hear it. We cannot live without you. Even the thought makes the heart shudder.

We had a friend—Ramlal Rana. In the machinery of his head, who knows what went wrong. He began to take himself to be a grain of wheat! Wherever he saw a rooster—he would be afraid: “This one will eat me”— and die a thousand deaths while still alive. Wherever he saw a sack, he grew nervous, skittish: “Someone will stuff me into it, tie it shut.” And if a flour mill came into view, Brother Rana would run for his life: “Here I’ll be ground to powder!” Well, some well-wishers, to set his brain right, filled out a form and had him admitted to the asylum. The doctor explained, “Dear Rana! You have two ears, two eyes, two legs, two hands, you walk, you speak— how can you be a grain of wheat?” But Rana wouldn’t agree— simply wouldn’t agree. He went on believing himself a grain of wheat. A…

A friend has asked: Osho, why should we think about death at all? We have life—let us live it. Be in what is present. Why allow the thought of death to come in between?

Just as there can be fear of sleep. Sleep is, in a way, a daily death. The day is life; the night is death. It is a piecemeal death. Every day we die a little, we sink within; in the morning we return fresh again. Then after seventy or eighty years the whole body gets tired—work, work, work—the body wears out. Then full death takes hold; the entire body changes. But we are very afraid of that. It is a deep sleep. Yet we are very afraid of it. Have you noticed that the body changes every morning too? It changes a little, which is why you don’t notice. It does not change completely; there is a partial transformation. When you go to sleep in the evening, your body is in one condition; when you wake in the morning, your body is in another. By morning the body has become…

Osho, forget even talking about death—I am afraid of the very word. How can one get rid of death?

Kusum Rani! There is no getting rid of death. One will have to die! Death is the other side of the same coin as birth. Once you are born—once you have taken one side of the coin—how can you avoid the other? Death already happened in birth. It may take you seventy years to find out, that’s all; but the event has already occurred. The very day a child is born, cry then and there; death has arrived. Now, whether anything else happens in life or not, one thing is certain: there will be death. Life is wondrous! In it, nothing is certain except death. Everything else is uncertain—may or may not be; but death will surely be. However much you run and hide, no one can escape death, no one can outrun it. And the more you fear, the more you die. Death comes only once, but to the…

A friend has asked: why should we think of death at all? We have life, let us live it. Let us live in the present. Why do we bring in the thought of death?

You may or may not have noticed that people who are engaged in a creative activity -- a painter, a musician, a poet, a writer -- are not too concerned with having sons, simply because they have found a substitute. Their paintings will survive, their poetry will survive, their sculptures will survive; they don't care about having a son. That's why scientists, painters, sculptors, writers and poets are not overly concerned with having sons. There is no other reason except that they have found a different kind of son. They have created a wave which will remain long after they are gone. Actually, they have found a son that will last even longer than yours, because even when your son has disappeared, the writer's book will still remain. A writer doesn't care much about having a son, about having an offspring. This does not mean, however, that he is carefree;…