What prevents me from becoming a sannyasin after seven years of contemplation?

I have been thinking of becoming a sannyasin for at least seven years. Why am I not able to take the jump?

It seems you are not aware of death at all. If you are aware of death you cannot postpone like that. And now, because you have been postponing for seven years, postponement must have become a habit. You have practised it long; you have become too attached to postponing. Postponement gives you a good feeling. First, it is not risky; you need not change. You are always going to change tomorrow, and the tomorrow never comes. So meanwhile you can remain the same as you are. The tomorrow becomes a protection: "Tomorrow I will become a sannyasin. So today, whatsoever I am, I HAVE to be. It is only the question of one day: tomorrow I will become a sannyasin and I will take the jump." And when tomorrow comes, it always comes as today. Now, for seven years you have been practising postponement. It must have become a kind…

Osho, for three years I have wanted to take sannyas, but I haven’t been able to. What could be the reason?

A little joke— A very shy young man is sitting with his beloved in the moonlight. It must be the autumn full-moon night. They’re alone, sitting under a tree. He’s bashful, full of modesty and hesitation. The silence grows heavy; he says nothing. At last, mustering great courage, stammering and stumbling, he says, “May I… may I… may I kiss you?” The girl looks up at him—there is invitation in her eyes, gratitude in her eyes. But the young man has his eyes fixed on the ground. Then again, silence. The quiet becomes even heavier. After half an hour he asks again, “May I… may I… may I kiss you?” Again the girl looks up at him, but now he is gazing at the moon and stars—to avoid it! Silence again. Finally, after another half hour—now it’s become very awkward—the young man says, “Have you suddenly gone deaf? Or dumb?”…

Osho, how do I take sannyas? I keep thinking and then I stop. What is this hesitation?

One night a thief broke into Mulla Nasruddin’s house. While the thief gathered things, Mulla quickly spread his blanket on the floor. When the thief, ready to tie up the loot, looked for a sheet to wrap it in, he found a blanket laid out. He was a bit scared—when he had entered, there had been no blanket on the floor. He’d seen a man sleeping under it; now that man lay on the bed without the blanket, and the blanket was on the floor! But it wasn’t the time to ponder. He tied his bundle and set off. Mulla got up and followed. Hearing footsteps, the thief turned and saw the same man who had been on the bed—first under the blanket, then without it. The thief got nervous and said, “Why are you following me?” Mulla said, “Why not follow? I was the only one left back there!…

Osho, I am eager to take sannyas, yet I have been hesitating for a year. I also have this doubt in my mind: what will happen by taking sannyas?

You are still living. Breath still moves. The heart still beats. The blood still runs. However many days may have been wasted, much is still left. The as-yet-unarrived is still there; the future remains. Live this future in a new way, Krishnaraj! Will you keep beating the same old track? Just as you think, “What will happen by taking sannyas?” now think this: what will happen by not taking sannyas? Until now you have not been a sannyasin. What has happened so far? One thing is certain: at least sannyas will be a new experiment. Whether anything happens or not, a new path will be cut. Who knows—what didn’t happen on the old path may happen on the new! Walk with at least that much curiosity. Who knows! The old path is familiar; will you keep circling on it? And not think even once that after so many rounds nothing…

Osho, why does pratikraman—the return home—feel uneasy, difficult, almost impossible to us?

Hence whenever a living Master appears, those who uphold old scriptures become his opponents, because because of him people begin to set scriptures aside. When scriptures are set aside, the pandits are set aside, the whole business is set aside. It becomes hard. The pandits become enemies. Then when this Master dies, the same pandits who were his enemies gather at the cremation ground—to offer homage. They then make scriptures out of him. Their enmity was with the living, not with scripture. So they themselves make the scriptures. It is amusing: Mahavira was a Kshatriya, but all his ganadharas were Brahmins! Strange—what is this? The moment Mahavira died, the Brahmins rushed in: “Good opportunity—now we can make scriptures again.” At once they set up scriptures. Jainism got constructed. Now if once again someone brings living religion, the scholars, the pandits, the worshipers of scripture, are in trouble again; their business…