What happens when I experience moments of beauty and stillness?

Osho, sometimes you speak on spirituality, sometimes on society; sometimes on politics, then on science; sometimes you support the scriptures, and at other times you talk of consigning them to the Holi bonfire. This creates all kinds of contradictions, which makes it difficult to understand you. You seem revolutionary, yet your traditional side also shows, because you insist on ochre robes and the mala. Is revolution not possible without sannyas? Can a person not be healthy without the label of sannyas? Is it not enough to be human—just human? This vast organization you are building—what is th

Melaram Asrani! I understand your difficulty. Your difficulty is the difficulty of many; therefore it is worth considering—worth considering seriously.

Osho, what is the first experience of samadhi like?

You will know only when it happens. It cannot be said; at most a few hints can be given. It is as if, in the dark, a lamp is suddenly lit. Or as if a dying patient, right at the edge of death, suddenly finds a medicine that works; life’s wave, life’s thrill spreads again—so it is. As if a corpse becomes alive—such is the first experience of samadhi. It is the taste of nectar. The experience of the ultimate music. But it will be only when it happens; and only then will you understand. You will not understand by my saying it. It is as with love. How can anyone explain it? To someone who has never loved, never known love, no matter how many explanations you offer—he will hear it all and still ask, “I haven’t understood; please explain a little more.” It is like explaining light to…

Osho, the pauses or silences that occur in the flow of your discourse feel even more poignant and delightful than the words—why is that?

They are; they should. There is no need for a question. Don’t ask. Taste it, drink it, drown in it. The moment you ask, you start trying to come back into the world of listening, the world of words. Silence alone is meaningful. Words are too small; truth does not fit into them. They are like the courtyard of your house—how can the vast sky be contained there? Though the vast sky is there too—only a tiny fragment. If, for a moment, you are freed from the courtyard and there is the feel of silence, don’t spoil it by asking why. The moment you ask, you are back in the world of words. This disease of asking has become such that you can no longer enjoy anything quietly. I have heard: a psychologist was treating Mulla Nasruddin. He sent him to the mountains for a change of air. Nasruddin was…

Osho, something inside has become suspended, and the whole body is in a dance all the time; please say something.

And therefore within, a rhythm of dance is sounding; within, a dance is on. Only when the mind halts does the dance awaken. Only when the mind halts do unfamiliar, ever-new songs arise. When the mind halts, windows open; new breezes, fresh winds of existence begin to ripple through your very life-breath. No sooner do you “die” here than life begins to descend there. Your death is the beginning of the supreme life. Your crucifixion on one side, and on the other side you sit enthroned. The cross and the throne are two sides of the same coin. My senses were lost before Your coming; we ourselves were lost before attaining You. So it will be. The mind will be lost—who will be left to keep awareness? The mind will break—where will the ego remain? The ego is only a construct of the mind, a mirage of the mind. The…

Osho, what happened in a split second—the “I” is gone, the mind is gone! My veil says, listen, O breeze, the monsoon has come this time, beloved. Again and again, thank you, Osho!

Hansa, in this world everything else takes time to happen, but meditation is timeless. It doesn’t even take a moment. The gap between two moments—that is the realm of meditation. When meditation happens, it happens in such a way that not even a moment is needed. Meditation is not a process in time. Meditation has no steps. Meditation is revolution, not evolution. And why is it so? Because the whole arrangement of the mind is fundamentally an arrangement of time. Mind means: past and future—with a tiny present squeezed in between. The mind lives in the past, in what has already happened; it keeps digging there, searching there, rummaging through memories. Or it lives in their reflections, the echoes projected into the future: what happened yesterday should happen again tomorrow—it was sweet, it was delightful; or what happened yesterday was very bitter—let it never happen again. The mind wants to…