Where did Jagjivan, an uneducated shepherd, find such lovely words and precious expression?

Swami Anand Maitreya has asked: “Jagjivan was a shepherd, uneducated—then where did he find such lovely words? How could such precious expression happen?”

Your beauty fills my gaze as I rise— the whole atmosphere shines like your raiment. The dawn breeze has passed through your bedchamber— my morning is fragrant with your very body. Then everywhere is his feel. The breeze becomes his touch; the sun, his spread; the rainbow, his bow; the waves, his resonance; the mountains, his uplifted head. Recognize once—and the path to recognition is love, not knowledge. Those lost in knowledge remained ignorant. Those who acknowledged their ignorance bowed at his feet and said: “I will grasp his feet and cajole him. I tell you: whom else do I know? I have come to your refuge. The love I have joined I will never break; this image I will not forget. I will grasp his feet and cajole him.” One who can say this—not on the surface but from the whole being—does not take long. He leaps onto the…

Osho, why has human faith in religion waned?

Then there is a further fall. This is when, around Buddha, people hear, oppose, accept. Then two-and-a-half thousand years pass. One generation hands it to the next. Those who had heard from Buddha, or at least seen him—some hint of truth must have reached their ears; some touch of Buddha’s presence must have touched them; some color of Buddha must have fallen upon their souls—however slight, it fell. Then their sons and their sons’ sons believe because the fathers believed, the forefathers believed, people have always believed—and then belief becomes blind belief. What you call religions are superstitions. They should have been bid farewell long ago. New editions of truth descend from the sky every day. A new Koran descends every day. God has not grown tired, has not exhausted Himself with Mohammed. Jesus is not God’s only son—as Christians say, the only begotten. Nor did God come to an…

Osho, “laukikānām hi sādhūnām artha vāg anuvartate; ṛṣīṇām punar ādyānām vācam artho’nudhāvati.” The speech of worldly saints follows meaning; but in the case of the ancient rishis, meaning followed their speech. Osho, out of compassion please explain this aphorism of Vashistha. Were the ancient rishis really so superior?

And the cause of the fight? When the police investigated, it became even more amusing. The picchī stick—bamboo—had been hollowed out and stuffed with hundred-rupee notes! That was their wallet. If you ever see a Jain monk’s picchī, look closely at the stick—there is nothing else they can use. Man is inventive: they had filled bundle upon bundle of notes inside. The fight was over division—the elder monk wanted more than the younger, a question of seniority! The younger insisted on equal halves: “This is conspiracy, not a government office!” They thrashed each other; the money was found. The community hushed it up with bribes lest it come out. They came to me: “What should we do?” I said, “Publish it in the newspapers—with photos!” They cried, “What are you saying! We came to ask how to hush it up. It is the prestige of the monk—of our religion.” I…

Osho, I had seen him like a blossoming flower, swaying with the breeze of existence, spilling the fragrance of bliss, always blending the nectar of love into everyone’s heart. He had become absorbed in the divine; that very form of light had expressed itself in him. Buddhahood seemed to rush in and dissolve into simplicity. It felt as though God himself had become the devotee. But was he a dance-song immersed in devotion, or a beautiful, brimming, overflowing silence? He has simply joined the celebration—that is all. How can I say who Swami Devteerth Bharati was!

I cannot forget his gift, though it was hard. Whatever is more beautiful, more auspicious, more true in life is bitter at first; sweetness comes later. And whatever is untrue, inauspicious, un-beautiful, is sweet on the surface, and poison in the end. Remember this maxim. Otherwise you will be misled by the initial sweetness. Once you gulp that sweetness, the poison begins slowly to destroy your body, mind, life-breath. If truth is bitter, don’t be afraid—soon it will become sweet. When I was small I lived long with my maternal grandparents. There were thirty-two miles between my father’s place and my maternal home. No train, no bus, no taxi; in those days nothing—no road even. He would cycle those thirty-two miles to see me. In the rains it was very difficult—half the way he had to carry the cycle on his shoulder. Where there was mud, cycling was impossible; where…

Osho, before the discourse, when Jagjivan’s verses were recited, my heart suddenly filled, my eyes welled up, and as the recitation continued my tears kept flowing on their own. When the recitation ended, the tears stopped. I understood the meaning of those verses after your discourse. Why did this happen?

Sumer Singh, you are fortunate that your feeling was soaked, and afterward understanding came. First dive, then understand. First be colored, then understand. First let things descend into the heart; afterward the intellect will do the arithmetic on its own. Those who say, “First we will do the intellectual accounting, and then we will drown the heart”—their heart never drowns, because the intellect’s accounting is never complete. It never completes! The intellect never comes to a conclusion; it has no conclusions. The intellect does not know how to conclude. It cannot conclude, because its nature is doubt. The heart’s nature is trust. The intellect can doubt, can think; it cannot conclude. The heart cannot think, cannot doubt; it takes the leap—and the conclusion happens. These two processes are very different. Therefore conversation between the intellectual and the feeling one cannot really happen; even in conversation, dilemma arises, dispute arises. There…