What is the nature of God?

Osho, where is God? If we are to seek, where should we seek?

Is it a boat or the moon’s shadow upon the ocean’s waters? When will that boat of light touch the shore of night? Is that untouched lunar shade a frolicsome ripple, A fleeting kiss of light on parched, impatient lips? Dream, or ideal, or resolve—call it what you will— A jewel of a ray, a blossom on the body of dusk! Beyond the reach of clay—are all things false there? Are eyes, fixed on limits, chained to the horizon’s bar? How can literate eyes read what the heart hums within— What fragrance once inscribed as verse upon the gentle breeze! Let the unreachable become reachable—this is the abyss’s longing; Made vocal, written upon the deep heart of the ocean! What is that song of the Unseen the moon keeps writing— Boundless love on the boundless grief of the bounded! The quarters beat the drum, the sky is sound, Time sings,…

Osho, what is god?

GOD is not a person. That is one of the greatest misunderstandings, and it has prevailed so long that it has become almost a fact. Even if a lie is repeated continuously for centuries it is bound to appear as if it is a truth. God is a presence, not a person. Hence all worshipping is sheer stupidity. Prayerfulness is needed, not prayer. There is nobody to pray to; there is no possibility of any dialogue between you and God. Dialogue is possible only between two persons, and God is not a person but a presence -- like beauty, like joy. God simply means godliness. It is because of this fact that Buddha denied the existence of God. He wanted to emphasize that God is a quality, an experience -- like love. You cannot talk to love, you can live it. You need not create temples of love, you need…

Osho, what is the fundamental anguish of human life?

There is only one anguish: that a human being cannot become what he was born to be. There is only one anguish: that the seed remains a seed and does not bloom like a flower; that it cannot scatter its fragrance to the infinite winds; cannot converse with the moon and stars; cannot offer its colors to the sky; cannot be expressed. If the poem within the poet cannot be revealed—anguish. If the painter cannot paint—anguish. If the dancer cannot dance—if chains lie on his feet—anguish. Anguish means only this: that what we are meant to be—our innate nature and destiny—does not come to fruition, and we are forced to be something else. Then anguish is born. Then melancholy gathers over life. And all those countless people you see burdened with sorrow, living in a kind of hell—the reason is only this: each has come carrying the seed of becoming…

Osho, where is God? If we are to seek, where should we seek?

Is it a boat or the moon’s shadow upon the ocean’s waters? When will that boat of light touch the shore of night? Is that untouched lunar shade a frolicsome ripple, A fleeting kiss of light on parched, impatient lips? Dream, or ideal, or resolve—call it what you will— A jewel of a ray, a blossom on the body of dusk! Beyond the reach of clay—are all things false there? Are eyes, fixed on limits, chained to the horizon’s bar? How can literate eyes read what the heart hums within— What fragrance once inscribed as verse upon the gentle breeze! Let the unreachable become reachable—this is the abyss’s longing; Made vocal, written upon the deep heart of the ocean! What is that song of the Unseen the moon keeps writing— Boundless love on the boundless grief of the bounded! The quarters beat the drum, the sky is sound, Time sings,…

Beloved Osho, is it really true that god is also searching for me? Can I wait for him to find me?

Have you ever heard in any religion, in any country, a story that God expelled a few trees out of the garden of Eden? Or a few animals, or a few birds? It is only man who is expelled. The story is significant. It simply means that the whole of existence is rooted in God. Only because man has a thinking mind, he has wandered far away. Mind is capable of wandering anywhere -- you can be sitting here and your mind may be wandering somewhere in America or somewhere in Germany, or somewhere in Japan, or maybe on the moon.... There are all kinds of lunatics. It is very rarely that you are here, very rare to be in the place where you are. Your mind is always wandering somewhere else. It is never here, it is never now. This wandering mind has taken you away from your own…