Ahamak

Osho! Who are you?

Swami Ram returned from America—one of India’s rare gems in this century. In the West he was revered; people went mad with love—there was something: a deep taste. Back in India he thought to begin at Varanasi. What happened shocked him. After five-seven minutes of speaking, a great Kashi pundit stood up: “Stop! Do you know Sanskrit?” Ram did not. Born in Punjab, educated in Lahore—he knew Persian and Urdu, not Sanskrit. The pundit laughed; the audience laughed. “No Sanskrit—and you prattle Brahma-knowledge! First learn grammar!” Ram was so dismayed he abandoned the idea of touring India—went to the Himalayas, even shed ochre robes—what value have ochre robes in a land where Sanskrit is thought equivalent to knowing Brahman? This happens often—people value the irrelevant: language, grammar, logic, numbers. Knowing is something else—experience. That day, I went to the riverbank— who knows what seized the water— the water drank me…

Osho, at the beginning of the new discourse series ‘Saheb Mil Saheb Bhaye’ we welcome you, bow to you, and request you to tell us why the Divine is called ‘Saheb’ (Master).

Man sleeps even deeper than that. Disturb his sleep and he becomes enraged. You want someone to sing lullabies, to deepen your slumber; to teach you “how to sleep better.” Your priests oblige—they increase your darkness, and you are pleased. The Master disturbs you—hence you are upset. He reminds you of your supreme nature: Saheb mil Saheb bhaye. He says: Meet the Master—be the Master. You are the Master; just awaken, and you will be it now. Why does man refuse even the declaration of his godliness? The reason is simple: accept it and you must change your life at once. If you are standing on the street blowing smoke, then remember “Saheb mil Saheb bhaye”—how will it look? The Master smoking a bidi? Gambling, drinking—and the Master drinking? The Master contesting an election? The Master, hands folded before each voter begging for votes! You will feel ashamed: what kind…

Osho, who is he? The one who, hearing the sweetness of your veena, sways as if intoxicated; who swims in the lake of your love-nectar; who spreads his wings in the sky of your emptiness; who lines his eyes with the kohl of your form; who sips your sweet ambrosia; who, whirling with you, dances each day—who is he? Your silent, smiling beauty—like a bud that snaps open in the autumn moonlight; the magic of your words—as if Radha’s surrendered life-breath were caught on the intoxicating tune of the flute; the one who, with just the touch of your gaze, dissolved into fragrance; who, mingling with

Yog Pritam! He alone is—only he. “Tat tvam asi,” the Upanishads say of him: Thou art That. It is him whom Mansur al-Hallaj declares: “Ana’l-Haqq! I am the Truth!” It is him whom those who have seen, who have known, proclaim: “Aham Brahmasmi! I am Brahman!” Say “I am,” or say “Thou art”—it is the same. In me too he is; in you too he is. In every leaf he is, in every flower he is. You sit by me, Yog Pritam. You listen to my words. These words are not mine—they are his. And the one within you who listens is not you either—that too is he! This flute is his, these words are his, the listener too is he. The moment such identity happens between you and me, when unity is forged, when the same flavor rises; the moment this bridge of love forms between us—just that moment…

Question: NEITHER ISNESS NOR NO-ISNESS, NEITHER EMPTINESS NOR FULLNESS, SO UNFATHOMABLE, BEYOND THE SENSES. WITHIN THE CROWN OF THE HEAD A CHILD SPEAKS, HOW SHALL HE BE NAMED? LAUGHING, PLAYING, THE KNACK OF MEDITATION, DAY AND NIGHT SHARING DIVINE KNOWLEDGE. HE LAUGHS, PLAYS, KEEPS MIND UNTROUBLED SUCH UNWAVERING ONE IS ALWAYS WITH GOD. DAY AND NIGHT DISSOLVING MIND IN NO-MIND, DROPPING FATHOMABLE TALKING THE UNFATHOMABLE. DROPPING HOPE REMAINING HOPELESS: BRAHMA THE CREATOR SAYS, "I AM YOUR SERVANT." WHAT FLOWS DOWN, HE CHANNELS UP, A YOGI BURNS UP HIS SEX. HE RELEASES HIS EMBRACE, SHATTERS ILLUSION: VISHNU THE SUSTAINER WASHES HIS FEET. DIE, O YOGI, DIE! DIE, SWEET IS DYING. DIE THAT DEATH GORAKH DIED AND SAW. But when you experience it for the first time you too will be dumb-struck, like a dumb man eating sweets.