What is the meaning of 'Pritam chhabi nainan basi'?

Once a glimpse of the Beloved’s beauty has been had, nowhere else is there beauty. Entangle yourself as you will—you cannot. Again and again, you will sing, pray, remember. “Only two times were difficult in my whole life— Before Your coming, and after Your going.” But this too is known only when a ray has come—when you hear His footfall. Then you know that before this, too, it was all pain, without essence; we lived in vain. And now—now a great pain has arrived. “Only two times were difficult— Before Your coming, and after Your going.” Slowly the door opens; slowly the light clarifies. “The sorrow of Your separation has saved me from all else— Now no other calamity can come near.” Gradually, only one remembrance remains—the Divine. Only the fire of His separation remains. Then a thousand calamities fall away; one alone remains.

What is it? A place where remembrance of the Beloved arises easily; where no other talk goes on; where the very air sings of Him; where the pangs of separation are spoken; where madmen weep; where people sway in His intoxication. Satsang is the night of longing. Alone, you may forget—you have slept for lives; alone you might fall asleep. In company you will not. When you sleep, someone else will be awake and will keep you awake; when he dozes, you will wake and keep him awake. Keeping each other awake, let this night of longing pass. Then, when the meeting comes, you discover even those nights of separation were wondrous, sweet. Looking back, you see—though He was not there, His remembrance was. Though He remained far, the heart cried for Him. Like the chatak bird awaiting the swati drop; like the papiha calling, “Pi kahan?—Beloved, where?

There is only the way to lose yourself. Those who lose, find. Those who set out to gain, never find. People come to me and say: We want to find God. I tell them: Search, but you will not find. They ask: Why? What is our fault? The question of fault does not arise. The seeker never finds. The one ready to lose finds. Losing is the way to find Him. For He Himself is lost. Become like Him—and the union happens instantly. Become absent. Let your ego go. Become a nonentity. Become as if you are not—and the union happens in a flash. The inner sky merges with the sky without. Then the supreme radiance of love manifests. Then love’s Gaurishankar rises. Love is moksha. For love frees you from yourself. Love is the supreme light. For other than your ego there is no darkness.

Osho, you have titled this series of talks “Sahaj Yoga.” Do “sahaj” and “yoga” not seem mutually opposed?

Anand Maitreya! They don’t just seem opposed, they are opposed. But no ultimate truth of life can manifest without contradiction. Life is made of opposites—darkness and light, day and night, woman and man, negative electricity and positive electricity, birth and death. The very structure of life is woven of opposites. Hence the opposites are not only opposed; they are complementary to each other. If you have labored hard all day, you will be able to sleep deeply. Labor and rest are opposites, yet only the one who has worked can rest deeply—and the one who has not worked cannot. So the opposites are not only opposed, they complete each other. And only the one who has rested deeply at night can rise in the morning and engage in work again. One who has not rested through the night will not be able to work in the morning. Look closely at…

At first, darkness—do not turn back. Do not think, darkness is darkness—let us go outside to the light. Practice sitting in the dark—that practice is yoga, is meditation. Sit. Today, tomorrow, the day after—one day darkness begins to thin, light appears; the eyes begin to see. Then within you is found that for which you searched outside—and did not find. Have I lined my eyes with you— like kohl in the eyes? Every dream now enters bearing your coaxing. In the idol of feeling— your image alone, sweet; Unbidden, unknowing, you keep changing form. When a hazy shadow touches the within, On the raga of breath, a song stirs. Have I bound you— like anklets in songs? Every resonance now carries your tinkle. In mute noonday dreams— mad memories turn burning noon into night.