Malady

Osho, this day-and-night throbbing, this ache without a cause—what kind of malady is this? Beloved, now tell me! Now tell me, now tell me! This day-and-night throbbing...

Which eyes can discern? Which eyes can see? Eyes in which the webs of thought are no more. Eyes in which the mounds of ego are no more. Eyes in which the sense of “I” has ended—those eyes become discerning. Then they see jewels everywhere. Then God is not far—He is near. The Upanishads say: God is farther than the farthest, and nearer than the nearest. It sounds paradoxical. Mathematics and logic will protest: if He is far, He is far; if He is near, He is near. What kind of statement is this—that He is farther than the farthest and nearer than the nearest! Yet the statement is true. Let logic and mathematics say what they will—here they have no reach. God is farther than the farthest if your eyes are dusted with ego; and He is nearer than the nearest if your eyes are free of ego. Even…

Osho, the arrows you let fly from behind the shelter of Baba Maluk, Krishna, Buddha, Mahavira and Christ have wounded me. When will the balm and bandage be applied to the wounded?

This alone is the meaning of a true Master: he makes you hear of the other shore. You may resist hearing, yet he keeps telling it. And one day a dream is stirred within you; you begin to dream of that far shore. This shore starts to seem futile. When there appears no substance here, then the trouble begins. On this shore nothing seems substantial; life here no longer feels meaningful. There is no relish now in earning money. No purpose now in the race for position. Even relationships look like children’s toys—wife, husband, sons, daughters. Now it is a big difficulty. Until now you managed to distract yourself with your toys; now you see they are toys. The real is across. Long were you bewitched by the counterfeit here. But now how...? Between lies a vast ocean. The real is over there and between is a great sea. To…

Osho, the pain of separation, the pain of separation from the Lord, cannot be borne.

In one town where I was visiting, a riot broke out because college boys staged a play—an “Modern Ramleela.” There was trouble because the village priests and the orthodox were enraged: Rama, Lakshmana, and Mother Sita in modern dress! Mother Sita in high-heeled shoes! A fracas ensued. It was their jest, but the foolish are countless; in this country, count one and you’ll find a thousand. Chairs were smashed, stage curtains torn, the boys beaten—“Mother Sita and high heels!” Yet the satire was dear and meaningful. Everything is changing—do you think the ever-new God will not be new? And remember: Rama, Krishna, Buddha are experiences of God. These persons knew the Divine. They are windows through which the sky was seen. But do not sit worshiping the window frame, or you will forget the sky and clutch only the frame. Look at the sky! The window is not the sky;…

Question: Second question: Osho, We had come to your threshold to bow our heads, Now the head refuses to rise to go back. If you have given the pain, then you alone give the remedy— let it not become a tale for the world to tell. All right. There is nothing to be alarmed about. Pain itself becomes the medicine! In pain’s incompleteness there is suffering; in its completeness, there is the cure. Understand this a little. It will be hard to grasp, because none of our logical categories will be of use. But among the precious truths of the inner life there is this: if your question becomes total, the answer arises from within the question itself. And if your thirst becomes whole, springs burst forth within the thirst itself and fulfillment comes.