What is the significance of a pub?

Question: Third question: Osho, why do you call your ashram a tavern? They fear truth—for truth is fiery. Come close and you will burn, be reduced to ashes. But from that very ash a new life is born. Under compulsion I had to forbid disrobing—not because in such a moment it is wrong to be naked; to stop someone then is inhuman, indecorous—but because spectators gather; they bring cameras; they will photograph someone—and that picture becomes “important.” A German magazine, Stern, printed two or three nude photographs. Such is people’s curiosity! Those pictures then appeared in papers all over the world. There is hardly a language they didn’t reach—Dutch, Italian, French, Spanish—everywhere. A year has passed since that magazine printed them, and still they keep appearing in new languages. No one asks in what inner moment these people were nude, in what state this bareness happened.

Osho, for the rinds the tavern is equal to the Kaaba; every round through the murshid’s lane equals a Hajj.

But a politician arranges for everything! If the Hindus are pleased by it—then Ramayana; if it brings votes—Ramayana. If Muslim votes are needed—“Allah-Ishwar tere naam, sabko sanmati de Bhagwan.” And sanmati—“right sense”—means: give me your vote. If you give it to another, that is not “right sense.” Such things make those who have tasted a little of the Divine break into laughter. Morarji Desai discoursing on the Ramayana—will no paramahansa laugh seeing this? A great joke! The blind giving sermons on light. The deaf critiquing classical music. Those who have never known love writing love poems and epics. Their words will be worthless, not worth a penny. But their words pass—because the rest are blind too. Among the blind, the blind prevail. In truth, among the blind the one‑eyed hardly prevails. What the seeing say—the blind cannot agree. When a blind man speaks, the blind agree, because their experience is…

Osho, I have seen many taverns and many drinkers dead drunk. But what can one say of your tavern! Never seen, never heard. In your tavern I have seen drinkers lost in ecstasy. And those who do not wish to drink—I see a strange ecstasy in them too. If one drinks and gets intoxicated, that I can understand. But seeing the non-drinkers in rapture—that I do not understand. Whenever I remember your tavern, a kind of heady swoon comes over me. This is even more astonishing! Is it really so, or is it my illusion? Kindly shed light on my doubt.

In the still water of that lake, the young lion saw he was not a sheep. Until now he had only seen sheep. In the world of sheep there are no mirrors. He had never seen his own face. Now he saw his own face, saw himself, and saw also that there was no difference between him and the old lion—save youth and age. Without any explanation, without any instruction, a roar—long buried in his chest since birth—burst forth, echoing through the hills. In a single instant he was no longer a sheep; he became a lion. The old lion said, “My work is done. Now it is up to you. Do you wish to return to your old family, or come with me?” He said, “What old family? A mistake has broken, a sleep has shattered, a dream has dissolved.” Do not stand outside. Do not think about those…

Osho, we saw the cupbearer weeping in the tavern—ever since we saw the revelers turning Rajneeshee.

So I give sannyas to alcoholics too. And I tell them, take it without anxiety! You are better than the pundits—at least you are humble. At least you ask, with your head bowed, “Am I also eligible? Do I too have the worth? Will you accept me?” That pundit with the tilak does not bow his head; he stands stiff with pride. He is worthy already! He is a “fit vessel”! He was born in a Brahmin home! He was born knowing Brahman! The drunkard is a hundred thousand times better than that. At least his head is bowed; he is humble. He makes no claim to worthiness. There is no ego, no self-importance. I accept him. And it has been my experience that as soon as a person begins to descend into meditation, alcohol begins to drop away. I am not an advocate of prohibition. I want people to…

Osho, the presence of a person seems indispensable for the experience of bliss. But if all around is only the expansion of me, then who will experience bliss? Just as sannyas seems essential for life to become blissful, isn’t the person equally essential for the experience of bliss?

It is precisely because of the person that bliss is not happening. The person is necessary for the expectation of bliss; for the experience of bliss, he is a barrier. For the longing and the craving for bliss, the person is needed; for the realization of bliss, the person is not needed at all. When bliss happens, you are scarcely there. In fact, only when you are not, bliss is. You yourself have tasted this, at least in unpremeditated moments: whenever you were not, a glimpse flashed. Your beloved comes home; you sit hand in hand. For a moment the presence of the beloved absorbs you so totally that you disappear—no thought of yourself remains. A drop slips in, the nectar begins to flow. Have you ever watched the sun rise? You sit on the riverbank. The sun begins to climb. This morning breeze, the coolness of the water, the…