Guida Spirituale 04

Fourth Discourse from the series of 16 discourses - Guida Spirituale by Osho.
You can listen, download or read all of these discourses on oshoworld.com.

The first question:
Sitting near you I increasingly feel deep silence and what seems to be emptiness, but there is no bliss in it. I tend to regard this as an indication that something is wrong, especially at darshan where so many people are so blissful. I don't seem to have any idea whether I am on the right track or not. Sometimes I think I am becoming more meditative and other times I think I am totally off beam and lost. Please comment.
Deva Ashoka, the temple of God has many doors. Each door has its uniqueness and one should not compare one door with another door. Silence is one of the doors to the divine, just as bliss is, truth is, love is, freedom is, awareness is, meditation is, prayerfulness is. Man can enter into the divine through as many ways as there are types in the world. And each type will have its own joys, experiences on the way.
Finally, when one has entered the temple, all those experiences melt and merge into one experience which is not possible to express. The ways can be expressed, but the goal remains unexpressed. Nothing can be said about it, it is a nameless experience, but the ways have names.
Silence is totally different from bliss. If you start comparing with others you will be getting into unnecessary difficulty. Comparison creates anxiety – no need to compare with what is happening to others, just see what is happening to you. Is it healthy? Is it nourishing? Without any comparison just watch what is happening to you. Are you becoming more centered, more rooted, more grounded? Are you feeling at home?
And this has to be without any comparison, otherwise everybody here will be in difficulty, because somebody is moving through the door of bliss and he will start comparing, “Why I am not as silent as Ashoka? Something is wrong. I dance and I sing and I feel great joy, but where is that profound silence which Buddha speaks of? Something is wrong, I am not on the right track.”
The same is happening to you, and each path has its own language. I have given you the name Deva Ashoka. It will be helpful to be reminded that Ashoka was the man who transformed the whole face of Asia. It was he, and only he, who made Buddha the light of Asia. Ashoka was one of the greatest emperors in the world. In many ways he was a far greater man than Alexander the Great, because even being a great emperor, the only emperor who ruled over the biggest map of India possible… Since then India has never been so big, many chunks of it have fallen away. Still it is a vast country, but Ashoka was the emperor of the greatest India possible, almost half of Asia.
When he became a meditator, when he became surrendered to the master, Gautama the Buddha, such a transformation happened to him that he remained an emperor and yet he possessed nothing. He lived like a man who has nothing. He had everything, but he lived like a man who has nothing. Apparently, on the surface, he never renounced the kingdom, but inwardly he was no longer part of this world. It has rarely happened in any other emperor’s life, in the whole history of man.
I have given you the name Deva Ashoka – divine Ashoka – feeling the possibility that silence will be your path. Silence means the path of via negativa. Bliss is very affirmative; it is via positiva. It affirms that the whole existence is divine, hence rejoice. It says yes to all that is. It does not renounce, it does not eliminate, it does not negate. It learns to enjoy, to experience, to sing, to dance, to celebrate. It is the way of a beautiful garden path. Many flowers bloom, birds sing.
The path of silence is just the opposite of it: it is like a beautiful desert. Remember, the desert has its own beauty. Not only gardens are beautiful – they have their beauty, but the desert also has its own beauty. The immensity of it, the unboundedness of it, the silence of it, the undisturbed, virgin peace that prevails in a desert – that has its own beauty. Beauty is not found only in one color and one size; it comes in all shapes, all sizes, all colors. There have been people who have loved deserts more than gardens.
I live in Lao Tzu House and my garden is a forest. Mukta, my gardener, was very reluctant to make it that way – obviously; she is a Greek and thinks logically, and this is very illogical. No symmetry, no pruning is allowed. She prunes, although when I am not looking! She tries to make something out of the mess.
Vivek hates the whole forest around the house. She says it has destroyed all perspective; you cannot see. You cannot see the vastness of the sky, you cannot see anything from the room – it is so covered! In fact, I don’t need to see anything; I have seen everything. But for poor Vivek it is difficult, she still needs to see a few things. I can understand her difficulty.
You can go on and on seeing a desert; it ends nowhere. All the horizons are available. Its vastness and its profound silence has its own song, unheard, unspoken. The same is true about the path of silence.
Buddha cannot dance, cannot sing. Of course he has his own song, but that song is not of sound. It is not the sound of running water; it is the song of a desert. You can feel it, you can live it, you can be it, but it is not tangible. You cannot touch it, you cannot hold it in your hands. How can you hold nothingness in your hands?
Buddha attained to the ultimate by negating: “I am not the body, I am not the mind, I am not the heart even.” He went on negating: “I am not a self, I am just nothing.” He went on negating till nothing was left to negate. His method is like peeling an onion: you go on peeling layer by layer, layer by layer. The onion starts becoming smaller and smaller and smaller, and finally the last layer has been taken off and the onion has disappeared. Now there is nothingness. This is Buddha’s path. When you have become absolutely nothing, you have entered. But don’t compare.
Buddha cannot compare himself with Meera, with Chaitanya, with Kabir. He cannot compare. If he looks at Meera dancing with her veena, singing ecstatically, of course he will feel something is being missed. If Meera looks at Buddha, the silence…
The first statues in the whole world were made of Buddha, and for the simple reason… It is not accidental that the first marble statues were made of Buddha. Buddha had some quality, the same coolness as the marble and the same stillness as a statue.
You cannot make a statue of Meera – impossible, because how is the statue going to represent a dance? Meera is fluid, flowing. If you want to make a statue of Meera, you will have to make a statue out of a fountain. You will have to give a shape to the fountain of Meera because she is volatile, dynamic. The dance has to be there. If the dance is not there… Yes, you can catch a posture of Meera dancing, but the moment the dance stops it disappears. Dance is a process, not a thing. Buddha can be caught beautifully in a statue; hence it is no wonder that he has the most beautiful statues in the whole world. His silence can be caught in a marble statue very easily.
Never compare. Comparison simply creates unnecessary problems. Go on moving into this silence and don’t call it empty – because when a Westerner calls anything empty it means one thing, and when the Easterner calls something empty it means something almost diametrically opposite. In no Western language has emptiness the connotation of something that really exists. Emptiness simply says that nothing exists, that nothing is simply nothing. But in Eastern languages, shunyata, the word that Buddha used for emptiness, does not mean nothing exists; it means nothing really exists. Nothing is not simply nothing: it is all, it is overflowing.
In English you have the word room; room simply means space. I lived in Raipur for six, eight months once, and I had a totally empty room, not even a chair, just a bamboo mat; that was the all that the room contained. Anybody entering the room would say, “Nothing in the room?” And I would say to the person, “Room simply means space; nothing else is needed. This is a room! It is spacious. You are looking for things and because there are no things you say ‘nothing.’ That is where the word nothing comes from – no thing. But you are not seeing the roominess, the spaciousness which is very positive. The room is full of space, it is not empty – empty of things but full of space.”
The desert is empty of trees and people and animals, but is full of space.
The Eastern languages also have a positive sense about nothingness, emptiness. So remember when you feel nothing, when you feel empty, drop the Western idea. It is a change of gestalt.
You must have seen pictures in children’s books – a very famous picture, almost everybody must have seen it, it exists in almost every psychology book: just a line drawing of an old woman, but if you go on looking at it, a moment comes when the gestalt changes. Suddenly the old woman disappears and there is a beautiful young woman. Those lines contain both the figures. If you go on looking at the young woman, soon again the gestalt will change and the old woman will appear, because the eyes cannot remain static; they become tired of one thing so they change the gestalt.
If you try to find the young woman while your eyes are focused on the old woman you will not be able to find the young woman, or vice versa: when you see the young woman in the picture and you try to find the old woman you cannot find her. And you have seen her, you know she is there, but you cannot find her. You cannot see both together, remember. You can try, but your failure is absolutely certain.
You cannot see both together because the same lines have to be used. Those lines can either show you the old woman or, if you have exhausted the lines in the old woman, then the old woman is nowhere, she has no more lines left for her. If you have exhausted the lines in the young woman then the young woman disappears. But if you go on looking you will have shifts: sometimes the young woman appears and then the old woman disappears as if she has never existed. You search for her and you will not find her.
The same is true when you look at an empty room: it is a question of gestalt. If you are focused too much on things – looking for the furniture and for the paintings and for things that are almost part of a room – then you will say, “There is nothing in it,” and your “nothing” will be Western. If you are focused on the space of the room, on the roominess of the room, you will see it is full, overflowingly full; full of itself. Then your nothingness will have an Eastern meaning.
The Eastern and the Western mind really differ in many ways; they have become focused on different gestalts. The West thinks of things; the East thinks not of things, it thinks of nothings. Its whole gestalt is different.
Your gestalt is changing from the Western to the Eastern, and it will be a little difficult for you to drop the old habit. Hence it looks as if it is empty and there is no bliss in it. This is your old habit; otherwise it will not look empty.
Nothing is as full as the empty hand: it has the whole sky in it. And nothing is as empty as a fist: it has nothing in it. The fist has “nothing” in the Western sense, and the open hand has “nothing” in the Eastern sense.

Once Ananda asked Buddha, “Bhagwan, what is your teaching, in short?”
And Buddha opened his hands and he said, “My teaching is like open hands, not like fists.”

A very significant statement: when your hands are open, in one sense you are empty; in another sense you are holding the whole world, all the stars, the whole sky. How much can you hold in a fist? – almost nothing. But to change from the Western gestalt to the Eastern is a little bit difficult.
In the West, via negativa has never been the predominant gestalt. Nothing like Buddhism has ever happened in the West, nothing like Zen. It could not have happened, it was not possible. The whole Judaic tradition out of which Christianity and Islam are born is basically affirmative: “God is” and Buddha says, “God is not.”
Remember the Eastern meaning. When Buddha says, “God is not,” he is not an atheist. He is simply saying that the nature of God is nothingness. He is not denying God at all; he is not agreeing with Epicurus or with the Charvakas. When he says “God is not,” you have to remember, you have to be constantly aware, that his “not” is not your “not.” His “not” does not say that God does not exist. His “not” simply says that God exists as nothingness. Hence we cannot say God is, because that will make your gestalt change to the positive. Either you can say God is nothingness or you can say God is not. And of course saying God is nothingness will not come closer to the truth. “God is not” comes very close, so close that one step more and you will disappear into nothingness. But that nothingness is overfull, it is pregnant. It is the nothingness that is found inside the seed.
If you cut a seed, what you will find? – nothing. But you know perfectly well that nothing contains millions of flowers – invisible, but they are there, all the colors, all the fragrances. Nothing can be felt right now, but the potential is there.
Enjoy this silence and don’t compare, and don’t call it empty. You are absolutely on the right track; this is the way for you.
I cannot conceive of Ashoka dancing; that will look very ridiculous. When you see Ashoka next time, just think – Ashoka dancing! It will look absurd, it is not possible. Ashoka singing – impossible! He tries because he sees so many people dancing and singing.
He writes jokes many times to me but I have never chosen a single joke because he has no sense of humor at all! But he tries, poor man, tries his best!
Once he wrote to me, “Osho, what do you think about it? I have an idea that I would like to start an ashram magazine just full of humor.”
I said, “My God – and Ashoka will be the editor of the magazine!” If he wanted to start a magazine on boredom or something like that it would have been perfectly logical, but he wants to start a magazine full of humor and he has no sense of humor at all, no possibility even! But there is no need.
Go on falling deeper and deeper into your silence. And never, never compare yourself, your experiences with others, because everybody has to go in his own way. Of course in the end, the one who has come dancing to existence and the one who has come in silence meet and merge into one experience.
Bliss is not right now the thing for you. It may happen as a by-product at the final stage.
A joke for you Ashoka. Think over it. Perhaps you may get it!

Garrity’s member was twenty-five inches long. The poor man could not find a woman who could hold him. The doctors could not help, so he went to a little sidestreet sex shop.
The clerk showed Garrity a stick of peppermint candy and said, “This has a secret medication inside. As you suck, your stump shortens. In your case about five minutes ought to do the trick. But let me warn you, the drug makes you very sleepy and drowsy, so you must have someone there to pull it out of your mouth when the time is up.”
Garrity could not wait to try the miraculous treatment. He dashed into the nearest men’s room, handed the Italian attendant twenty bucks and said, “I am popping a medicated rod into my mouth and it might make me doze off. It is extremely important that you pull out the dopestick after five minutes.”
Garrity woke up several hours later, saw the attendant watching him and asked, “Did you remove the stick after five minutes?”
The man replied, “No speak-a the English.”

Bliss is not your language – forget all about it. Silence is your language. And don’t try to be blissful because that will be simply false. Don’t try at all to be something that you are not; just be that which you are and whatsoever it is, it is right, because you have to find yourself and nobody else. And remember another thing, don’t condemn others either: “What are you doing, dancing, singing and wasting your time? Sit silently.” Because that is also a possibility.
Either people compare and then feel that they are missing or they become aggressive and they start destroying other people’s lives; they start condemning: “This is wrong.” That is a kind of defense, and it is said that the best way to defend is to attack. They start attacking others, “You are wrong,” just in order to feel “I am right.” That aggressiveness is also wrong because that may distract somebody from his or her path.
The religious person has to understand that people differ, they are unique. In fact, each individual comes to godliness in his own way, in his own unique way. Nobody else before him has ever come to it in the same way, exactly the same way, and nobody else in the future is ever going to come to it in the same way.
This is one of the calamities that has befallen humanity. The Christian goes on condemning the Hindu, the Hindu goes on condemning the Christian, the Mohammedan goes on condemning others. Everybody is condemning everybody else: “You are wrong.” The basic thing is, they are all defensive, they feel deep down, “Perhaps we are wrong.”
Naturally, Jainas are only such a small minority that a deep defensiveness is natural. There are millions of Christians in the world; almost one half of the world is Christian. There are only three hundred thousand Jains. The natural, the obvious logic is, “How can so many people be wrong? We must be wrong.” Hence they become very aggressive.
If you meet a Jaina monk, he is more aggressive than anybody. Of course he believes in nonviolence, so he is nonviolently aggressive! But I have looked in Jaina scriptures: they have been criticizing everybody and vehemently, for the simple reason that they are so few, they have to defend themselves. They are trembling inside: “How can we be right? It is impossible for us to be right, we are so few. If we were right we would have been victorious all over the world. And Christians are so many and Mohammedans are so many and Buddhists are so many – they must be right.” But they cannot concede that, hence: “Destroy them as much as possible.” If you cannot do anything else, logically, in your own scriptures, you can condemn them.
Either a person starts feeling, “I am wrong,” or he starts hankering to make the other feel wrong. Both things are absolutely unnecessary. No need for you to feel wrong; no need for others to be made to feel wrong. Allow everyone his own individuality to flower in its own way. Roses are roses, marigolds are marigolds, lotuses are lotuses. There is no need to compare and there is no need to say, “You are wrong.”
Just watch inside. If you are feeling good, if you feel well-being arising in you, then you are on the right path. If you feel your misery disappearing, if you feel your anxiety falling away, if you feel your anguish evaporating, you are on the right track. Don’t be bothered about anybody else; that is none of your business.

The second question:
If another man who has already realized his own self comes to you, can you recognize him simply by looking at him? I would like to meet you if you permit me.
Abhedanadan, no need to bother. I can recognize you even without seeing you – you have not realized. There is no need to see you. This is not the question of a man who knows. The very desire to be recognized as self-realized is enough proof that it has not happened yet. Once it happens, who cares, who bothers? There is no point, not at all.

A few days ago I was reading about Baba Franklin John. He writes that he went to Satya Sai Baba and he waited there in the crowd to see whether Satya Sai Baba could recognize him as a God-realized person or not.
If he recognizes Franklin John: “This man is a God-realized person,” and comes to him and says this to him, then Franklin John will know that he too is God-realized. But he never looked at him, so Franklin John says he knows nothing. He was waiting to be recognized – a childish desire for certificates, somebody authoritative giving you a certificate.

When I left the university there was a post vacant for a professor of philosophy. I applied for it. The education minister called me for the interview, and you can understand what kind of interview it must have been. We immediately clashed. Instead of him interviewing me, I interviewed him! And finally he said, “What is the matter? Have you come here to be appointed to this post or are you interviewing me?”
I said, “That doesn’t matter, that is secondary. That we can decide later on. The essential things first!”
But he said, “I have other things to do. You just do one thing,” he told me. “Give me one character certificate, that’s all. I have seen that you are well-qualified and you can be appointed, and I am ready to appoint you because I cannot argue with you. Just give me one character certificate, which is absolutely necessary, and here is the appointment order.”
I said, “That is very difficult because I have not yet found a man whose character certificate I would like to have!”
He said, “What do you mean? Can you ask your vice-chancellor?”
I said, “No, I cannot, because even if the vice-chancellor asks me to give him a character certificate, I cannot – he has no character at all. How can I ask him for a character certificate?”
He said, “This is very difficult. You can’t find anybody?”
I said, “I cannot find anybody. You suggest someone to me. For example, you are the education minister, but I cannot take your character certificate!”
He said, “Why?”
I said, “Just now I have seen you. You have no intelligence at all! Appointing a man like me, who is absolutely anti-philosophical, who is against philosophy, to the post which is vacant for a professor of philosophy – what further proof can there be that you are absolutely unintelligent? I would not appoint myself to that post!”
He said, “You are very difficult!” But he started feeling for me, loving me, feeling a softness for me. He said, “Somehow manage. Bring any certificate. I would like you to be in the university.”
So I said, “I can do only one thing: I can write one myself, because that is the only certificate I will accept.”
He said, “That will do – because who looks in the files?”
It must still be in the files, my own character certificate! – “Hereby I recommend: this man has a great character.”

Abhedanada, you say, “If another man who has already realized his own self…” What self? The moment you realize, there is no self. The self exists only for the unrealized; for the realized, the self disappears. There is pure emptiness, just nothingness, no “I,” no shadow of “I,” no “I-amness.” Hence, what self? Self is only a religious term for the same game called the ego. It is the same number; it does not differ in any way.
Self means: “I am separate from the whole,” and the realized one knows he is not separate from the whole. He cannot have a self; he can only have a no-self, anatta. That’s what Buddha calls it – no-self.
It is a very paradoxical phenomenon. To realize who you are is to realize that you are not. If you want to be, never try to realize because in the very process of realization the ego disappears. And the self is only another name for the ego. There is nothing like “self-realization.” Yes, there is realization, but the realization always makes you absolutely clear that the self had never existed in the first place and it is not there; it has never been there.
And for whom are you looking for recognition? As I see it, to me, everybody is a no-self whether he knows it or not. Yes, if he knows that there is no self, I will immediately see that he knows. His humbleness, his simplicity, his spontaneity, his no-nonsense will be enough. His eyes will be absolutely empty because only in emptiness is there clarity. He will be a nobody, a nothingness. Of course, as far as I am concerned everybody is a no-self, but you may not be aware of it. If you are not aware of it, nothing is changed in reality – you still remain a no-self but you go on living in a dream-world of the self. And the greatest dream of that dream-world is the dream of self-realization.
You ask, “If another man who has already realized his own self comes to you…” For what should he come to me? Is there something still left to realize? “…can you recognize him simply by looking at him?” Certainly, but there is no question of recognition. I will see that he knows, but I will not say.

Kabir and Farid met once – two enlightened masters. For two days, forty-eight hours, they sat in silence together. Nobody uttered a single word. Nothing was said, nothing was heard. They hugged each other, they kissed each other, they laughed, and then they departed.
The disciples of both were very frustrated because they had come in thousands to see the great meeting of two self-realized persons, and nothing happened! What can you expect? When two zeros meet, what can happen? It becomes one zero. Two zeros are not two zeros. As they come closer it becomes one zero.
So when they departed, the disciples of Kabir asked him, “What happened to you? You go on talking to us and torturing us every day, but for forty-eight hours suddenly you went crazy or something? And we were waiting and waiting for something to be said.”
Kabir said to them, “I can talk to you because language is the only way you can understand, but this man Farid can understand silence. I need not say a single word. If I speak I will only prove that I am ignorant.”
The disciples of Farid asked him, “What happened to you?” – Farid sang such beautiful songs – “What happened to you? You could have at least sung one of your beautiful songs, but you didn’t utter a single word! And what were you laughing about? – because not even one joke was told.”
Farid said, “We were laughing at you – that so many fools are waiting as if something is going to happen, but nothing is going to happen. The moment I saw him, the moment he saw me, everything was clear. He knows, I know, and we know the same thing. So what is the point of speaking?”

It is like Lao Tzu… A man asked Lao Tzu, “Can I follow you when you go on your morning walk?”
Lao Tzu said, “Yes, but with one condition: no talking.”
The man agreed. For one hour continuously they walked in the mountains, and the man was really in difficulty. He was controlling and controlling and controlling. And then finally the sun started rising. The valley was so beautiful with the sunrise that he forgot that he was not to talk and he didn’t think that this was much talk either: he simply said, “What a beautiful dawn!”
And Lao Tzu said, “That’s the end! Never again come with me – you chatter too much!”
The man said, “What? I have simply said, ‘What a beautiful dawn!’ after one hour, and you are telling me, ‘You chatter too much!’”
Lao Tzu said, “Yes, you chatter too much, and unnecessarily because I have got eyes, I am also seeing the beautiful dawn. What is the point of repeating it? Do you think I am blind, do you think I am insensitive? Do you have to say it to me? I know it is beautiful, so what is the point of saying it?”
He never allowed the man to follow him again. He said, “No, that is not possible. You have proved yourself too stupid.”

If somebody who has come to know that he is not comes to me, I will immediately see. But there is no need to come – by chance the meeting is possible. Farid and Kabir met by chance. Farid was traveling and on the way came to Kabir’s hut, so Farid’s disciples said, “Kabir lives here, and it would be beautiful for you to be together for a few days, and we can also enjoy your being together.”
He said, “Okay.”
And Kabir’s disciples said, “Do you know Farid is passing by on the road? If we can invite him for just a few days it will be good to have two enlightened persons in the same hut.”
Kabir said, “Okay.”
It was a coincidence.
It happened during Buddha’s and Mahavira’s lives that many times they were in the same town, and once at least they were in the same caravanserai; Mahavira occupying one part of the serai and Buddha occupying another part of the serai. Yet they never met – there was no need.

Once I was in Mumbai and J. Krishnamurti was in Mumbai. Somebody told him that I was there. He said, “Good.”
People persuaded him, his disciples, that the meeting would be good. And my people also came running to me and they said, “J. Krishnamurti is here, and this is the opportunity of a lifetime for us. It will be good if you meet.”
I said, “Perfectly okay, but who is going to whom? I am not going anywhere. If Krishnamurti comes, he is welcome!”
And Krishnamurti said the same thing, “I am not going anywhere. If Osho comes, he is welcome.”
And there the matter finished, finished forever. There was no need. I told the people, “What will we do? We will sit, unnecessarily wasting each other’s time!”

One thing is certain: you have not attained yet. That I can say without seeing you.
He has also asked another question which becomes proof of what I am saying: “Osho, can you enter into samadhi whenever and howsoever long you like to remain in it?” One only enters samadhi once and then one never comes out of it. There is no way out. There is no exit, there is only entrance. I have entered samadhi. Now wherever I am, whatsoever I am doing, it is all happening in samadhi. Now there is no way to come out of it. Samadhi is not a state, is not a mood into which you go and then you can come out. Samadhi is your very being. Now where can I leave my being? It is my very nature. Now where can I leave my nature? I am it.
You don’t understand at all. You may have studied scriptures – Abhedananda seems to be an old type of Hindu sannyasin – you may have studied, you may have read, you may have listened to great scholars, pundits, but you have not tasted the wine, not yet.

The third question:
I feel so sad about leaving. Can you kiss me goodbye with a joke?
A mouse was looking for a new place to live. He traveled for days, always finding something wrong with each house he came to. At last he came to a beautiful mansion and as he approached it he could hear singing in the distance.
He went in, and to his surprise all the rooms on the ground floor were deserted, but the singing got gradually louder. He went up to the next floor – the singing got louder and louder, but there was still no sign of anyone.
He went to the next floor, and as he went from room to room, the noise was becoming really deafening. At last he tracked the sound down to a small bedroom, but to his amazement there was no one inside. Then he noticed an old chamber-pot. Inside there was a little mouse singing his heart out as he paddled a tiny boat across the piss.
The first mouse asked the mouse in the pot if this was a good place to live. He was assured that it was safe, plenty of food, and that he would be very welcome. So he went back down to the kitchen to find some food, but to his horror was faced with an enormous cat, ready to pounce. He fled back upstairs and shouted at the other mouse, “I thought you said this was a safe place to live!”
“Ah!” replied the second mouse. “You know, you really should not believe anything I say – I have been on the piss all night!”

Enough for today.

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