Why do different saints describe ultimate realization using different metaphors like 'light,' 'a Holi of colors,' and 'the taste of nectar'?

Osho, among the saints some have called the ultimate realization “light,” some “a Holi of colors,” and some “the taste of nectar.” Why this difference?

The difference is not in that ultimate state; the difference is in the experiencer’s mode of sensitivity. Everyone’s sensitivity is different. A blind person, for instance, can also experience the divine—blindness is no obstacle. God is not experienced through your eyes, nor will God be withheld because you lack eyes. Eyes have nothing to do with it. But if a blind person has the experience—say Surdas—then it will not be an experience of light. “Light” is not in his repertoire; it exists nowhere in his felt world, nowhere in his lexicon. But a blind person’s ears are highly attuned. The energy that normally flows through the eyes—about eighty percent of the body’s energy—now becomes available to the ears. That’s why eyes are our most vital organs, and why we feel such deep pity for the blind; not so much for the deaf, the lame, the maimed, or even the mute.…

Osho, is the experience of the Divine different for each person?

Think of it like this: you go home from this garden, and your children say, “Tell us—what was the garden like?” A painter might tell you by making a painting: “It was like this.” A poet will write a poem—of the trees, of the winds passing through them, of the sun filtering between their leaves. Now a poem and a painting differ greatly. Or perhaps someone is a musician; he will not even write a poem—he will lift his vina. Why write? The winds passed through the trees and there was sound and resonance—he will reproduce that resonance on the vina. The colors in the trees he will translate into tones. The sun and shade he will pour into music. He will play the garden on his vina. Another will write a poem; another will render it on paper. The three expressions will differ. And if you look only at…

So it is. When you reach the shore of the divine and bring the experience back, by the time you get here, the chests you bring—chests of words—have killed it. The experience happens where there is no mind. But to tell of it, you must employ the mind. The very mode of that experience is so different, so unique, that you cannot catch it in words. Go beyond words—it is grasped. Bring it into words—it slips away. Still, the master speaks—not thinking he can convey it by speech, but to arouse thirst. The poet’s folly—yet I say, he did right. At least this much would happen: seeing his eyes, the effort of filling the chest—though he failed—his beloved’s thirst would awaken. A thrill would arise: “I too must go to the seashore. When I am well, I will go.

Osho, what does realization feel like? How can a seeker know that something has truly happened? How can one distinguish reality from self-created imagination? How can others recognize the attainment of one who is realized?

You ask: “How can a seeker know that something has truly happened?” When you have a headache, how do you know you have a headache? When I was in school, I had a Muslim teacher—perhaps he is still alive—Rahamuddin, a lovely man, but very strict in one thing: it was almost impossible to get leave from him. He himself never took leave and would not grant it to students. I often needed leave. I would say my stomach hurts, or my head hurts. He said, “Listen, I accept fever; I do not accept stomachache or headache. If you have fever, I can at least take your hand and feel it. But how am I to know whether you truly have a stomachache or headache?” I said, “Since you ask, let me ask you—have you ever had a headache? A stomachache?” He said, “I have.” I said, “What proof can you…

The name of that center where all the senses are one is Atman. Go far—go outward—and the senses begin to separate: ear apart, eye apart, nose apart—each segregated. The senses are specialists: the eye only sees, the ear only hears. But when you arrive at the center, there the one who sees is also the one who hears and who tastes. There is the king of all the senses, the master of the senses. All his capacities… Therefore the taste of Samadhi is nectar (amrit). The experience of Samadhi is the fragrance of the Infinite. Samadhi is embrace. Samadhi is the cloudburst of a storm of light. And Samadhi is the unstruck sound (anahat nada). All the senses lay down everything of theirs. The sum of all the senses’ experiences is, of course, unprecedented.