Sat Chit Anand 29

TwentyNinth Discourse from the series of 30 discourses - Sat Chit Anand by Osho.
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If, in a still and calm and silent moment, I whisper, “Kill me now,” will you do it?
Anand Rakesh, I have every intention of killing you because without killing you, you can’t have a new life. You will go on living the old, rotten personality which keeps you company and gives you a certain consolation. But the company is of misery and the consolation is only a hope; it never materializes. Just because it is old, you feel at ease with it. However dark and however painful, man has the greatest adaptability. If he becomes accustomed to it, he can adjust in any situation; it only needs time.
You can see it happening in poor countries like India. About five hundred million people are starving, but they won’t revolt, they won’t start a revolution. They will starve and die, hoping for some god’s messenger – avatar – some savior to save them. It is strange how blind man can be. So many saviors have come to the earth, so many messengers have come, but not a single one has been able to effect any change in human life. On the contrary, they have made it more miserable because they imposed unnatural systems of thought which go against your very potentiality. But the hope continues. It is the hope that keeps the starving person from revolting.
Secondly, this poverty, this hunger, have become so much part of his life, almost his lifestyle, that he does not conceive of any possibility of another kind of life. He will go on living as he has been living for centuries: in starvation, undernourishment, in slavery. It is simply unbelievable how man adapts to the old, to the acquainted, to the known and is afraid of the unknown. He may have nothing to lose, but still the fear of the unknown is very deep-rooted in man.
Perhaps it is from your very birth that the fear of the unknown settles in. And that is the bottom of your unconsciousness. Every child is born into an unknown world. He has to leave the known world of the mother’s womb; reluctantly he leaves it. He makes as much effort to cling to it as possible. It is just by nature that he has to come out – it is impossible for him to remain there any longer. But he comes trembling, not knowing where he is going, what kind of existence, what kind of life. He is accustomed to the life of the womb. Hence the first thing that he experiences is the fear of the unknown. And that fear haunts him all his life.
You are asking me, Rakesh – but you may not have looked deeply into your question – “If…” Remember, I don’t like ifs and buts, so this is not a true thing that you are asking. You are simply supposing; it is hypothetical. If means the beginning of a hypothesis.
“If, in a still and calm and silent moment…” Do you know any still, calm, and silent moment? Is it your existential experience? If it were so, you would not start the question with if. But as far as I am concerned, if you are in a silent, calm and still moment, I will not wait for you to whisper, “Kill me now”; I will kill you before that. I don’t postpone anything and I don’t wait for anything because the next moment is so uncertain.
And when you are calm and still and silent, from where will the question come? From a silent space when you are enjoying life in its real essence, when it is the most juicy experience, from where will the whisper “Kill me now” come? In fact your stillness, your calmness and your silence have already killed you. And it is pointless to kill a man who is already killed. I am a lazy man, I don’t make unnecessary efforts. Once killed, killed for ever.
But this very experience of death in silence is the beginning of a new life – very fresh, very young, just a green sprout, just the early morning cool breeze. It does not have the old connotations about death that your mind may be filled with: darkness, danger, angels of death surrounding you, pulling your soul out from your body while you cling to it. Death is a tremendously beautiful experience, perhaps the most significant moment in your whole life. It is the very climax, the crescendo, as if your whole life has become concentrated in a single moment.
It is a known fact all over the world that sometimes when people are drowning, but don’t die; they are saved. All these people have a strange experience, all over the world this similar experience. When a person is drowning, he knows he is dying. He has no idea that he will be saved. He comes up from the water one or two or three times at the most, just for a few seconds. But in those few seconds a strange thing happens: he starts seeing his whole life as a film, passing fast before him from the first day he can remember, up to the moment when he is drowning, as if the whole mind is exposing itself, all its memories.
It has been a great question mark for the scientists. How is it possible within two or three seconds to see your whole life which has taken you seventy years to live? But it happens. The film goes quickly. You see your whole life. If the man is saved, he will tell people that he saw his whole life.
This is about the ordinary man with a very small consciousness. When an enlightened man is dying he not only sees his whole life, he also sees death as the highest peak he has ever experienced. It is not an enemy, but a great friend, because it is not the end but the beginning of a greater life, of an eternal life.
So you need not even whisper; I don’t literally have to kill you. Your silence, your calm, your stillness will do my work. I have to kill indirectly, otherwise it will be illegal and criminal. I don’t touch you, I simply teach you something which is going to kill you. No court, no law can say that I kill you, can say anything against me. I was teaching you silence, meditation, I was teaching you to be joyous, I was teaching you stillness. No court, no law, no lawmakers have any idea that this is the situation in which one finally dies, as far as the old is concerned, and is reborn into a totally new vision with fresh eyes.
The whole world changes for you. It is no longer separate. It is not something you have to conquer, to fight, to prove your manliness. No! It is something so tremendously close to your heart; it surrounds you with such warmth and love that you simply allow a let-go. In that let-go is the crucifixion of the old and the resurrection of the new.
Ancient scriptures say “The master is death.” They are right, but only half right. The master is also the resurrection. But as far as the disciple is concerned he has no idea about resurrection, he only sees death. And there is a very subtle psychology behind it, Rakesh.
You have not lived peacefully, you have not lived in stillness, you have not lived in silence; your life has been just vegetation. Naturally when you find stillness, calmness, and serenity, a desire deep within you arises that this is the right moment to disappear. You have never seen such a beautiful space. This is the space, not to pull back from, but to go deeper into – and disappear.
It all comes automatically. If you meditate to the very end, death will happen to you. It will happen at the very center of your being, and from there, just as a seed dies in the soil and a sprout arises out of the death of the seed, you will die. But something fresh, young, eternally fresh, green, will arise out of your death. On your death, roses of your enlightenment will blossom. The new life will be the life of light, the life of blessings, the life of love.
It has nothing to do with your old idea of death. You have to learn a new alphabet, a new language with new connotations. When you become a meditator, you cannot go on carrying the old associations with words that have been given to you by society, which is absolutely unconscious.
You don’t need me to kill you. Although I am making every effort to kill you, I cannot kill you directly. And killing you directly is not going to help. It will be simply murder – of a vegetable! It is not a crime, in fact, because a vegetable-cutting knife would be enough. You are not yet ready to be killed. You are so fast asleep, so dormant, that it can be said you are absent.
First be present in this silence, which is still an if for you. Make it a reality. In this silence will arise your presence, and with that presence you will feel death as a welcome guest. It takes you out of the grip of the old and helps you to move into the cosmic existence. It is a blessing, but only for those who are conscious. For those who are unconscious it is a curse.
In the Upanishads there is a very beautiful story…

An old man, a very rich man, a super-high-caste brahmin, very learned in the scriptures, was distributing gifts to other, poorer, brahmins because he knew he was going to die soon. His small son, whose name is Nachiketa, looked at the things that he was distributing. They were all rotten junk.
People give these things as gifts. I have been watching gifts. They go on moving from one hand to another hand. Nobody uses them; they are so useless that the moment you get them you start looking for somebody to give them to.
He had thousands of cows – in those days in India cows were the symbol of richness. How many cows you had was your bank balance. But he had chosen the oldest cows which no longer gave milk.
In India an old cow is a burden. You cannot kill it because it is your mother. It does not give you milk, but you cannot let your mother starve. That is irreligious. You will not believe what Manu says in his scripture, which dominates Hindu society even today after five thousand years. It says: “To kill a cow is almost equal to killing one hundred untouchables, the sudras.” The cow is so valuable that if you can kill one hundred sudras – the untouchables, the poor, the poorest of the earth – the crime will be the same. And you can be forgiven by God if you kill one hundred sudras, but you cannot be forgiven if you kill a single cow.
So he was giving old cows to other brahmins. As that boy was innocent he could not see the point. He asked his father, “What are you doing? These people are already poor and starving and you are giving them old cows, which I know perfectly well don’t give any milk. These poor brahmins cannot manage to find themselves two meals a day. How are they going to feed these cows?”
He was so persistent that the father became angry. He said, “Be careful, I will give you away too!”
He said, “To whom will you give me?”
In anger the father said, “I will give you to death.”
So he waited while all the brahmins passed by. The ceremony of giving things was over and he asked his father, “But death has not come and you were going to give me to death. I will have to go in search of death. In your anger, in a way you have already given me to death.”
The father knew… “Where can he search for death?” He said, “Okay, go and search. If you can find him I will give you…”
The story is very beautiful, although from this point on it becomes allegorical.
The little Nachiketa – one of the most beautiful names as far as seekers are concerned – goes on and on asking everybody where he can find Death. And finally he ends up at the house of Death.
But Death has gone to take a few people whose time has come. So he meets the wife. The wife, seeing a high-caste brahmin – and such an innocent child – asks him to come in.
He said, “No, unless Death invites me, I will not come in. I will sit outside.” The wife brings food for him, something to drink.
He refuses. He says, “I will fast until Death comes.” Three days pass and the wife is very concerned: the little boy has not eaten anything, has not drunk anything.
Finally Death comes and Nachiketa says, “My father has given me to you.”
Death says, “But you are too young. Your time has not come and your father has no right to give you. When your time comes I will come myself. You took such a long journey unnecessarily and then you have been fasting. Even I feel sad for you. What can I do for you? Just tell me – I will allow you three wishes. You can have all the money that you want, you can have a great kingdom if you want, if you have any desire for a beautiful woman, you can have her. Whatever you want, just tell me and I will do it.”
Nachiketa says, “If I am a king, will you come or not?”
And Death says, “You are asking strange questions. I will have to come one day finally, whatever you are, whether a king or a beggar.”
He says, “Then there is no point in asking for a kingdom. And certainly death will be the same for the richest man. So there is no point in asking for money. Since you are going to come, I don’t see any point in asking anything of the world. I will ask you only one question: When you come, am I going to die really or is it just a facade? Am I just going to change bodies like houses? You have to tell me the truth.”
Death is at a loss, because this is his secret. But the promise has been given, so Death says, “It is very difficult for me to answer you, but I have to be truthful to such an innocent inquiry. I have never killed anyone. I have simply changed their old, rotten bodies, their old, rotten minds and given them new bodies. And there are a few who have lived so totally and so consciously that they don’t need to come back into the world as a separate entity. They don’t get another body again. To them I give the whole of existence to disappear into. They will be in this cosmos not as separate units, but as one with the whole.”
This is one of the most beautiful stories – very significant. The proverb I told you which says “The master is death,” here shows the reverse: “Death becomes the master.”
And Nachiketa says, “Then there is no problem. I don’t have to be afraid of you. You are just a fiction and nothing else. Those who are unconscious believe you are a reality; those who are conscious know that you are a fiction, just an appearance.”

For over thirteen years now, you have been ignoring me. What I could never fully grasp is that what you ignored was my neediness, greed, and all kinds of garbage. For my part, though I have been physically close to you, I have managed in my ignorance and fear to keep a certain distance. Really I have been ignoring you.
Osho, from the first day I knew I was yours. But I was, and still am, a coward and an idiot.
It is again Anand Rakesh. In the first question he was ready to die. But it was an “if” question. Now he is far more real. Now he is exposing his thirteen-year-long, strange, insane behavior.
I don’t ignore anybody, but this is part of the human mind’s work: it projects everything onto somebody else. It ignores, but it projects on somebody else that it is being ignored. In fact somebody else becomes a mirror. You see your own face, but you think there is somebody in the mirror – small children do it. And everybody is a small child as far as spirituality is concerned.
It is worth watching: when small children start moving a little, just put a big mirror in front of them and they will be stunned. Seeing the other child, there will be a few moments of utter silence – mixed with fear – but then curiosity takes over. They try to touch the other child, and the other child also is touching them. They become clear that there is no danger, but where is the other child hiding? Behind the mirror? I have seen with my own eyes the child go behind the mirror to find where the other child is. He cannot conceive that it is just a reflection.
The master is a mirror: he only reflects you. But you go on projecting all kinds of things onto him. When you are in a good mood, he is a great master; when you are in a bad mood, he is just a fraud. Your conception about the master goes on changing every day. Sometimes he is so beautiful and sometimes he is just the incarnation of the Devil. Sometimes he is the Christ and sometimes the same person becomes the anti-Christ. But you never see the point: all these concepts and projections are yours. The master is only a mirror, a very clean mirror; it shows your reflections.
At least you have come to a situation where you can realize it; thirteen years have not been wasted. You say, “Really I have been ignoring you.” Experiencing this, your life will take a new turn. Thirteen years you have been wandering zigzag, wanting my attention, but still keeping a distance. People go on doing that because they all have a split mind.
Physiologists have just discovered what the meditators have known for centuries: you don’t have one mind, you have two minds. In your skull your mind is divided into two hemispheres, the right and the left – and they don’t have any connection with each other. They are not on speaking terms with each other. They don’t in fact know the other.
Strangely enough, there are a few things which only the left-side mind is capable of doing and there are other things which only the right-side mind is capable of doing. They need a great harmony so that they don’t destroy each other’s efforts. That’s what goes on happening. What the right mind creates, the left mind destroys. They don’t know each other. They don’t have any idea that there is anybody else. One mind decides one thing, the other mind cancels it.
But in meditation a bridge happens. Other than by a meditative mind it has not been possible to create this bridge. The bridge happens on its own accord. As you become silent, calm and quiet, both minds start functioning together in harmony. Your life becomes integrated, you are out of the schizophrenic world.
This realization that you have been ignoring me is of great importance, Rakesh. From now on, you can start moving in the right direction. You say, “From the first day I knew I was yours. But I was and still am a coward and an idiot.” These are great realizations.
Almost everyone is a coward, but hiding the fact so deeply that even he becomes unaware of it. Everybody thinks that he is a very brave man, but in fact to think of yourself as brave is nothing but a repressive technique of your cowardliness. This is a pose that you are putting on to cover your cowardliness. You can only become really brave when you know that death is a fiction. Before death becomes a fiction, it is absolutely natural that you will feel a certain cowardliness within you.
It is better not to cover it up. It is better to understand it because that is the way to get rid of it, to find ways that can make you aware that death is a fiction. Then you are no longer a coward. And the same is true about your being an idiot. The world is full of idiots. It is very difficult to find someone who is not, but everybody believes he is an intellectual giant. He may not say that to others, it wouldn’t look right. He leaves it to others to understand; he knows himself that he is an intellectual giant, but because nobody recognizes his great intellect, he feels very offended.
I have come across many intellectuals who are feeling very offended that they don’t have any recognition. I said, “If you are certain of your intelligence, you don’t need anybody’s recognition. Do you need anybody’s recognition that you have eyes? You’ve never thought about it. Only a blind man will think about it, ‘If somebody could recognize that I am not blind, it would be a great joy.’”
Realizing that one is an idiot is simply realizing that one is unconscious. The word idiot is a little strong, just pure whiskey without water. You have to realize that your actual nature is simply unconscious. And out of your unconsciousness you go on doing things which prove to be idiotic.

The psychiatrist marries a very ugly woman. When asked by a friend about his reasons the shrink replies, “I know that her face looks like the back end of a bus, that she has a terrible figure, that she is cross-eyed and stupid, but wow, what dreams she has!”

He has married her for her great dreams. The psychoanalysts are interested in dreams and nothing else. Even the people who are concerned with your psychological sanity are themselves sitting in the same boat you are in. There is not much difference.

Young Ruthie, the daughter of Hymie Goldberg, is watching her mother Becky as she tries on her new fur coat.
“Mum,” she says in disgust, “do you realize how much a poor, dumb animal had to suffer, so you could have that coat?”
“Ruthie,” snaps Becky angrily, “how dare you talk about your father like that.”

Out of our unconsciousness we are looking at things, seeing things, which are not there, hearing things which have not been said. Our whole life is a mess because we are not alert.

Becky Goldberg is watching the local news on the TV while Hymie is involved with a crossword puzzle.
“Darling,” she says, “did you hear that? A man in New York has swapped his wife for a season ticket to the New York Yankees. Would you do a thing like that?”
“Hell, no,” replies Hymie, “the season is half over.”

“Gentlemen,” announces the drunk at the registry office, “I want to register this birth of twins.”
“Why do you say ‘gentlemen’?” inquires the official. “Can’t you see I am here all alone?”
“You are?” gasps the new father staggering back. “Maybe I had better go back to the hospital and have another look.”

Perhaps he has seen twins where there was only one. He is seeing many gentlemen when there is only one.
If you can understand that you are unconscious, it is the beginning of becoming more conscious. Nobody can remain unconscious if he realizes it, because then he knows that all his life’s misery and suffering is born out of this unconsciousness – there is no point in changing symptoms. Up to now you have been fighting with symptoms: how not to be miserable, how not to suffer, how not to be angry, how not to be jealous – these are all symptoms. You cannot fight with symptoms, you have to go to the roots.
The root is simply your unconsciousness, out of which all these poisonous things go on growing. Once you reach the root, then the only way is not to bother about anger or suffering or misery, but to put your whole attention and energy into making the unconscious conscious. In other words, what I call meditation is just an effort of transformation from unconsciousness to consciousness, from darkness to light.

A few years ago, when Ronald Reagan was still a third-rate movie actor, his little daughter was watching him in the shower. She pointed to his testicles and asked what they are.
“Those are my apples, dear,” replied Reagan. Quickly the child ran to her mother and told her what Reagan had said.
Nancy replied, “That’s nice, dear, but did he tell you about the dead branch they are hanging on?”

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