Voice

Question: BELOVED OSHO, KYOSEI ASKED A MONK, "WHAT IS THE NOISE OUTSIDE?" THE MONK SAID, "THAT IS THE VOICE OF THE RAINDROPS." KYOSEI SAID, "MEN'S THINKING IS TOPSY-TURVY. DELUDED BY THEIR OWN SELVES, THEY PURSUE THINGS." THE MONK ASKED, "WHAT ABOUT YOURSELF?" KYOSEI SAID, "I WAS NEAR IT BUT AM NOT DELUDED." THE MONK ASKED, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY `NEAR IT BUT NOT DELUDED'?" KYOSEI SAID, "TO SAY IT IN THE SPHERE OF REALIZATION MAY BE EASY, BUT TO SAY IT IN THE SPHERE OF TRANSCENDENCE IS DIFFICULT." SETCHO PUT IT LIKE THIS: THE EMPTY HALL RESOUNDS WITH THE VOICE OF THE RAINDROPS. EVEN A MASTER FAILS TO ANSWER. IF YOU SAY YOU HAVE TURNED THE CURRENT, YOU HAVE NO TRUE UNDERSTANDING. UNDERSTANDING? NO UNDERSTANDING? MISTY WITH RAIN, THE NORTHERN AND SOUTHERN MOUNTAINS.

Osho, the other day while listening to your discourse, a strange kind of vibration arose in the heart and along the auditory nerves; since then even ordinary sounds set off odd ripples and waves of bliss. Please tell me: is there something in the voice of enlightened ones that produces a special effect? Also, in your presence there is a particular, delightful fragrance; at times it is felt in the ashram and sometimes during meditation as well. In this regard, please say whether certain moments in time have their own special fragrance too.

I speak with the same purpose with which a musician plays the vina. He does not play to explain anything. Remember me as a vina player. My speaking is my vina. What I am saying to you—less am I speaking, more am I singing. If you understand its purpose, that is enough: listening to this instrument—as one sometimes, listening to a vina, falls into a trance—one begins to sway; something within begins to vibrate; something like a stone inside begins to melt and flow. For a moment a window, an opening, is there—sky is glimpsed. Like a flash of lightning—the darkness is gone—even if only for a moment; but then you know that light is, and you also know there is a path. It was revealed for a moment in the lightning’s flare, but revealed it was. Now no one can tell you there is no path; no one can…

Osho, when I read your discourses I am filled with wonder. But when I listen to them, only sound keeps reverberating. In the end, only emptiness remains, and a soft, delicate bliss. Is this your taste, Osho?

Certainly. I am not saying anything to convince your intellect. My effort here is not to placate your mind. Sometimes I speak on devotion—then the effort is that your heart be stirred. Sometimes I speak on knowledge—then the effort is that you transcend both heart and intellect and become a witness. But I never speak for the intellect. The intellect is like an itch: the more you scratch… While scratching it feels pleasant; afterward a great soreness comes. I am not speaking for your intellect, not for your head. Either I speak for the heart, or I speak for that which is beyond both—beyond heart and intellect. Either for the witness, or for your feeling. Either for your love, or for the awakening of truth within you. And the greatest benefit will be for those who listen by putting the intellect aside. Heard through the intellect, nothing much is heard.…

Osho, will you soon abandon prose and explain to us only in verse? And then will you go into silence?

Verse is certainly closer to prayer than prose. And if you have listened to me, I have been explaining in verse all along—when have I ever spoken prose? What does verse mean?—that which can be sung; that which is singable; that which can be danced. What is verse?—that in which there is music, a rhythm, a cadence. If you are listening rightly, then even when it seems I am speaking prose, I am speaking verse. Because my whole effort is that you may hum, you may sing, you may dance, that a meter may enter your life. Will you recognize it only if I bind it into the framework of poetry? What Buddha spoke is all verse. What Mahavira spoke is all verse. Prose cannot really be spoken. From the realm of prayer only verse issues. Not that I am saying Buddha is a poet; he is not a poet…