What happens after attending a discourse?

A friend has asked: Osho, these days you have said important things, but the moment I step out of the hall I feel just the same as before; nothing changes in my behavior. Why is that? What should I do?

You are laughing, because this is everyone’s question. It will happen to all; it is perfectly natural. Because finding something appealing or “right” is one thing, and having it come into your life is quite another. There are many reasons why something may feel good. One, it appears logical. Two, it seems to offer a glimpse of joy. Three, while listening you become so absorbed that—even if it is neither wholly logical nor does it itself carry a taste of joy—for that one hour of listening you become so immersed that a stream of well-being starts flowing within you. Because of that, you connect whatever was said with that happiness and conclude, “What was said must be right, because for an hour I had a glimpse of happiness; I felt blissful.” But the moment you step out of the room, the situation changes. It will change. Because what felt logical—life…

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, the other day while listening to your discourse, a strange kind of vibration arose in the heart and along the auditory nerves; since then even ordinary sounds set off odd ripples and waves of bliss. Please tell me: is there something in the voice of enlightened ones that produces a special effect? Also, in your presence there is a particular, delightful fragrance; at times it is felt in the ashram and sometimes during meditation as well. In this regard, please say whether certain moments in time have their own special fragrance too.

I speak with the same purpose with which a musician plays the vina. He does not play to explain anything. Remember me as a vina player. My speaking is my vina. What I am saying to you—less am I speaking, more am I singing. If you understand its purpose, that is enough: listening to this instrument—as one sometimes, listening to a vina, falls into a trance—one begins to sway; something within begins to vibrate; something like a stone inside begins to melt and flow. For a moment a window, an opening, is there—sky is glimpsed. Like a flash of lightning—the darkness is gone—even if only for a moment; but then you know that light is, and you also know there is a path. It was revealed for a moment in the lightning’s flare, but revealed it was. Now no one can tell you there is no path; no one can…

Osho, when I read your discourses I am filled with wonder. But when I listen to them, only sound keeps reverberating. In the end, only emptiness remains, and a soft, delicate bliss. Is this your taste, Osho?

Certainly. I am not saying anything to convince your intellect. My effort here is not to placate your mind. Sometimes I speak on devotion—then the effort is that your heart be stirred. Sometimes I speak on knowledge—then the effort is that you transcend both heart and intellect and become a witness. But I never speak for the intellect. The intellect is like an itch: the more you scratch… While scratching it feels pleasant; afterward a great soreness comes. I am not speaking for your intellect, not for your head. Either I speak for the heart, or I speak for that which is beyond both—beyond heart and intellect. Either for the witness, or for your feeling. Either for your love, or for the awakening of truth within you. And the greatest benefit will be for those who listen by putting the intellect aside. Heard through the intellect, nothing much is heard.…

Osho, yesterday you said that when anger is watched consciously, it dissolves. But why is it that when sexual desire arises, even in awareness its intensity persists? Why is it so?

There is no entanglement in the breath. If you try to practice on anger… Anger is not happening every moment; it happens sometimes. And when it happens, it happens with such intensity that you are already going deep into it; so much is at stake in those moments that you may think, “We will look into awareness later; first let’s settle this now.” Lust is very deep, because existence has made it so deep; life depends on it. If lust were so easy that you decided and were freed, perhaps you would not even have been born—because many before you would have become free, and the possibility of your being would have been almost nil. But your parents, and their parents, did not become free; therefore you are. You too will not get free so easily, because your children are also to be—they are waiting: “Do not run away midway.”…