What is meant by living intensely?

That intensity—yes, how to live it?

I can’t provide Osho’s exact words without the source text; here is a neutral response on living with intensity: 1) Be totally present: Do one thing at a time, with your whole attention. Half-heartedness dilutes energy. 2) Breathe and feel: Let the breath be deep and unhurried; stay in the body. Sensation anchors intensity without strain. 3) Speak cleanly: Say yes when it’s yes, no when it’s no. Clarity concentrates energy. 4) Take small risks daily: Tell a simple truth, try a new action, show a real feeling. Risk keeps the flame alive. 5) Cut distractions: When engaged, silence the unnecessary—notifications, background noise, idle chatter. 6) Care for your energy: Sleep, move, eat simply. A clear system can sustain a bright flame. 7) Practice witnessing: Sit 20 minutes daily; notice breath, sensations, thoughts—without pushing or holding. Awareness sharpens without tension. 8) Create and love: Channel intensity into art, service, relationship.…

Osho, how can the feeling of bliss be cultivated? How to taste that throb of bliss, that thrill, that excitement, that dance of bliss? How can life be filled with it?

The man said, “What difficulty is there in that? We all do the same.” The fakir replied, “If only! The day everyone on earth does just this, no one will need to go anywhere to seek liberation. For when you sleep, you don’t only sleep—you do a thousand other things. Your sleep is a long disturbance, a long agony, a long nightmare. When you eat, you don’t only eat—you do a thousand things. You appear to be eating but you are also at your shop, or in court fighting a case. Whatever you do, you do a thousand other things along with it. No act of yours gathers your whole being. “There is only one practice: when you do something, do it totally. When you work, total work. When you rest, total rest.” Then you keep traveling between the two banks of bliss, day and night—swinging from one to the…

Osho, this aphorism from the Mahabharata seems to match your vision exactly—“muhurtam jvalitaṁ śreyaḥ, na tu dhūmāyitaṁ ciram.” “It is better to blaze for a moment than to smoulder for a long time.” Please be gracious and explain how this is possible.

So you may worship Buddha’s statue or read the Quran in the morning or go to church—it makes no difference; you do not trust because your life offers no evidence. Your life is smoke—and Krishnamurti speaks of a smokeless flame! You have not known even a smoky flame; only smoke. Wet wood smokes. The wetter the wood, the more the smoke. Remember: smoke is not part of the fire. People think smoke rises from fire. It does not. If the wood is utterly dry—with not a trace of moisture—there is no smoke. Smoke is from the water in the wood. Buddha rightly said: as long as your mind is wet with desire, there will be smoke. The day you are free of craving, of imagining, of the mind’s restless scrambling—when you are dry, like seasoned wood—then only flame will arise: a blazing, smokeless flame. That flame is life’s supreme wealth,…

Some friends have also asked: this morning I spoke on “the art of living.” Let me say more precisely what I mean by “the art of living.”

The fakir laughed: “If there are no bones in a wooden statue, how can there be God in it? Go—there is a lot of night left. Two more statues are there. Bring them. You warm yourself; I will warm myself.” That very night the fakir was thrown out of the temple into the cold—because the priest saw God in the wooden statues and did not care that this living God would be cold outside. He was thrown out. In the morning when the priest went out, he saw the fakir sitting by the milestone at the roadside, hands folded in prayer. He was as amazed as he had been at night. He shook him and said, “Madman! What are you doing? Praying to a stone?” The fakir said, “I see God everywhere—everywhere! Last night I burned the statue precisely to see how deeply you see God. You were not ready…

Osho, you say, “As He wills, let us become mere instruments; whatever role in life we have been given, let us fulfill it.” But letting what happens happen—i.e., flowing along with the body, mind, and ego—gives rise to suffering. So should we keep applying the principle of instrumentality even in relation to the body, mind, and ego, and go on suffering? How do we solve the riddle between the principle of instrumentality and the continuous reality of suffering?

That supreme bliss is beyond both pleasure and pain. It is neither like night nor like day. It is twilight. The sun has set, night has not yet come; the light remains—very gentle, sweet, non-aggressive—that is twilight. Morning has come, the sun is not yet risen, the night has gone—such is the twilight. One who abides in that twilight—that is what we call prayer. That is why Hindus call their prayer sandhya. Sandhya means one who has stopped in between the dualities, who has found the truce between the two. Between pleasure and pain, love and hate, victory and defeat, night and day, life and death—one who has found the pact and stands in that concord. Seek that interval of conjunction. Krishna says, it is simple to find. If you cease to be the doer, you will find it instantly. It is only through your doer-ship that you keep missing.…