Self-Inquiry

Osho, a disciple asked a satguru, “May I ask you a question?” The satguru replied, “Why do you want to wound yourself?” Please explain the meaning of this.

The very meaning of a satguru is this: in whose presence, in whose satsang, a disciple slowly melts and disappears. The satguru is the disciple’s death. Therefore only one who has the courage to dissolve deserves to be a disciple. And even after dissolving, something remains. In truth, only what remains after you dissolve is worth preserving. What vanishes ought to vanish. There is much rubbish inside a person, and people mistake that rubbish for their being. The diamonds are lost and life passes in the mud. What you call your personality is not you; and what you truly are, you have no acquaintance with. Until the old identity is broken, there is no way for a new knowing to arise. In this world a satguru is the most dangerous person. If by chance you meet one, run as fast as you can; don’t even look back. Yes—if you have…

Why do I always ask nearly the same questions, again and again?

BECAUSE the mind itself is repetition. The mind is never original. It cannot be; by its nature it is such. The mind is a borrowed thing. It is never new; it is always old. Mind means the past -- it is always out of date. And by and by mind becomes a pattern, a habit, a mechanism. Then you become very efficient in it. Then you go on moving in the same rut, in the same routine, again and again and again. You go on asking the same questions because you go on remaining the same mind. Unless you are new your questions are not going to be new. Unless you drop the old mind completely, totally, utterly, the new question cannot get into you. The new question cannot get into you because there is no space, you are already filled by the old. And the mind has a persistent…

Why is it so difficult to ask the real question? And why do I feel so stupid about this and any other question?

I asked them, "If it is proved definitely that God is, how is it going to change your life?" They shrugged their shoulders. They said, "We will live as we are living." "Or, if it is proved," I told them, "that God definitely does not exist, how is it going to change your life?" They said, "It is not going to change our lives at all, because we both live exactly the same life. We are partners in a business. He believes in God, I don't believe in God, but as far as our lives are concerned we have the same pattern. His God does not make any difference, my no-God does not make any difference." Then I said, "This is a futile question." Which question is futile? One whose answer is not going to make a change in your life. It is useless. People ask, "Who created the world?"…

Beloved Osho, for ages I have wanted to ask: please, tell me, what should I ask? Accept my pranam, my bowing salutation.

Dulari has asked. It is absolutely true: I have known her for years, and she has never asked anything. Very few people have never asked. This is the first time, and still she doesn't ask anything: "For ages I have wanted to ask: please, you tell me, what should I ask? The real question of life is such that it cannot be asked. A question you can ask is not worth asking. What you cannot ask -- that is worth asking. The real question of life cannot be put into words. Life questions can only be said with eyes thirsting for rain, eyes filled with the longing to know. I know Dulari. She has never asked, but I have heard her question. And her question is not hers, because what you are able to ask is yours. What you are unable to ask is everyone's. The same question is inside…