The Osho Upanishad 27

TwentySeventh Discourse from the series of 44 discourses - The Osho Upanishad by Osho.
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Is it true that whatsoever the master says or does is simply a device to transform the disciple?
It is one of the most impossible things in the world to indicate, to explain the ultimate truth. The experience is beyond words. The difficulty is we have nothing else to communicate with; words are our only means of communication.
But the ultimate has to be said, it has to be pointed at; it is an intrinsic necessity of the experience itself. The moment you know it, at that very moment a great desire to share it arises too; they cannot be separated.
A small story will help:

Gautama the Buddha became enlightened. He came to know the very essence of reality – not only to know but to experience; not only to know – he became it. And the first question that arose in his mind was, “How am I going to express it? It is too vast: the whole sky. Perhaps even the sky is not the limit, and the words are so small. It is so deep that even oceans are not so deep; and words – they don’t have any depth. It is multi-dimensional. Words are linear, one-dimensional. How to bring this strange experience to those who are groping on the path, just the way I was groping for millions of lives?”
It is natural that a compassion should arise, because those who are groping are not strangers, they are fellow travelers. You are blessed that you have found the door – now don’t be hard; somehow make the deaf listen, the blind see. Make the words dance and sing and express the ecstasy – but how?
And there is a great dilemma: on the one hand there is compassion pulling you toward the other seekers, and there is a diametrically opposite pull to remain silent because it is so beautiful to be silent, so blissful, such a benediction. The experience wants you to drown yourself completely in it and the compassion wants you to stay on the shore a little more and shout from the rooftops of the houses to those who are deaf. Perhaps somebody may hear.
For seven days Buddha remained silent. He could not decide what to do. It was easier to remain silent and enjoy the sweetness of the experience and not to bother about others – but it was cruel, it was violent, it was not right for a man of heart. But the trouble was, even if he should decide to express, there are no words in human language which can bring the ultimate experience. In communication, explanation, there is no argument to prove it. The only argument is to experience it. If you ask for proof before the experience, there is no way; it cannot be proved. Puzzled, he remained silent.
The story is tremendously beautiful, but remember it is a parable; it is not history.
The gods in heaven… Buddhism does not believe in a God because that is too much a fascist idea. Buddhism believes in gods, a more democratic approach – and each human being ultimately has to become a god; that is the flowering of your potential. Those who have flowered before have become gods; there is no qualitative difference between you and them. They have not created the world. Once they were the same as you are, in the same way ignorant, the same way blind, but they have found their way and they have blossomed, their spring has come.
So in Buddhism the word god is simply an evolutionary term. Man evolves into a god – not that God makes man; man is not a creation of God. Godliness is the ultimate opening of the lotus of your being. Each being in the world is destined to become a god one day, sooner or later.
So the gods in heaven were waiting for seven days. They were the only ones in the whole of existence who knew that Gautam had come home, and they all wanted him to speak – because rare is the chance, unique is the opportunity when somebody comes to such a glory, such a blessedness. The flower should not disappear without leaving its fragrance all around. Gautam should speak.
But seven days had passed, and he was going deeper and deeper and sinking within himself. Afraid, because it has happened to many – those who have known have never said a word – not to be hard on them, it is really difficult. A few gods representing the whole galaxy of gods came down to Gautam Buddha.
I was sitting under the same tree thirty years ago, thinking about the story – a poor place, a small river, the Niranjana. The place must have seen its golden time when Buddha became enlightened on Niranjana’s riverbank. And on the seventh day the gods came and prayed to him, “Please, remember your teachings about compassion. This is the moment to show compassion. Speak! Whatever you have experienced, give words to it, give wings to it, let it reach to those who are thirsty.”
Gautam Buddha said to them, “These seven days I have been struggling without coming to any conclusion. The problem is, even if I say it, I know it has not been said. It is so vast – language is so poor, and it is so rich. Now it is not my fault; even if something goes into the words it will not reach people. Their minds are so full of rubbish they will interpret it. Who is there to listen? For listening, innocence is needed.”
Here unfortunately, in this country, everybody is so knowledgeable that you cannot find a single person in the whole country who can say, “I don’t know.” He is willing to give a discourse on God, on heaven and hell. Ten thousand years’ knowledge has been gathering and being transferred from one generation to another generation, layer upon layer. Every mind has become so full of knowledge that nobody is ready to listen.
So Buddha said, “It is better just to be silent.”
The gods went into a nearby bamboo grove to discuss what to do. “What he is saying is right, but somehow he has to be convinced to speak because one never knows when another person is going to become enlightened again. We can understand his difficulty, but we cannot allow him to remain silent. It is very, very difficult to find such a cultured, articulate individual who becomes enlightened. He will find some way.”
They came back, and they found a little loophole in Buddha’s argument. They said, “You are right as far as 99 percent of people are concerned – or even 99.9 percent of people are concerned, you are right – but what about the one percent of people? You cannot deny that there may be one person who may listen to you. There may be one person in the whole world who may be transformed by your words, and if you don’t speak he will go on groping in darkness – he is just on the boundary line, needs a little push. Don’t be so hard. Just for a few individuals, speak.”

Your question is: Are the words and the works of all the masters only devices?
Yes, they are only devices, devices to bring you closer to truth. There is no direct way to transfer it, hence an indirect way has to be found. That’s what a device is – an indirect way. You think you are doing one thing; the master is planning for something else to happen indirectly.
For example, I am speaking to you: you think this is a discourse. It is not – it is just a device. While you are listening, I am doing my work. You are playing with words. You are so absorbed, so attentive that your mind is completely engaged, and I can have a heart-to-heart contact and the mind will not disturb it. The mind will not even know about it. That heart-to-heart contact happens simply in the presence of the master, but the mind has to be engaged in some toys.
Different masters have used different toys; they are devices. And later on, those devices become religions and people fight over those devices. They are not the real thing. The real thing dies with the master, disappears with the master. It was in his presence, it was in his silence, it was in his eyes, it was in his heartbeat.
And you can see the difference. Gautam Buddha speaks: the same words have been repeated for twenty-five centuries by thousands of Buddhist monks, but those same words don’t create the same impact. What is missing? If it was only the words, then whether Buddha speaks or Tom, Dick, Harry, whoever speaks, it makes no difference – just a gramophone record, “His Master’s Voice”; the master is not there. But why don’t those words create the same ringing of bells in your heart?
When Jesus spoke, or Zarathustra spoke, the words were the same. Every day you use those words, but unless you have the experience your words are empty – they may be scholarly, they may be that of a great pundit, they may be of a great rabbi. This word rabbi always reminds me of rubbish; I cannot get rid of that.
They know the scriptures. Sometimes perhaps they are better orators than Krishna, Mahavira, Buddha; better trained speakers, with all the technological understanding. Still, their words are dead.

One great Christian theologian often used to come to India. His name was Stanley Jones. Generally he was the guest of the principal of a Christian college. The principal was my friend; that’s how I came to be acquainted with Stanley Jones. He had written many beautiful books, very beautiful. He was a man of tremendous scholarship.
He used to give sermons, and he would keep fifteen or twenty postcard-sized cards; on each card everything that he was going to say was written in shorthand, so nobody would even know what was written on them. And he always used to speak standing, so the people could not see those cards either. He would speak; when the card was finished he would change the card to number two, to number three.
One day, before he was going to speak, he had arranged his cards and had gone just to get ready in the bathroom. I mixed the numbers – the fifth was first, the first was fifth, the third was tenth, the tenth was the third. I just mixed them and put them back. He came out, took the cards – I also went with him.
He started speaking. Looking at the card he could not understand, “What is happening?” – because the card said something which it was not supposed to say – “Where is the introduction?” He was almost in a nervous breakdown. And in front of a crowd of almost two thousand people, he started looking for the card with the introduction. He could not find it so he tried to start on his own, but he had never started on his own in his whole life.
People were very much puzzled: they had never seen such a third-rate sermon from such a first-rate theologian – and they had all heard him before. He was perspiring – and it was winter. Somehow he finished. Neither did he know what he was saying, nor did the people understand what he was doing, what was going on. It was all irrelevant, inconsistent, unrelated, upside down, the beginning coming in the end. Finally the introduction came: “Brothers and sisters…”
He was very angry. Back in the principal’s home he said, “I feel like killing you!”
I said, “You should feel like that. But I wanted to do it for a specific reason. Do you think Jesus used to have these cards with him? You are more articulate than Jesus. Jesus was uneducated, he did not even know Hebrew, he only knew the local dialect, Aramaic, which only the laborers and poor people spoke. The learned and the cultured and the rich used to speak Hebrew; Aramaic was not for the cultured and the educated. Jesus had no way of carrying these cards because he could not write, but his words have a fire. And your words are the same but there is no fire, there is no warmth. They are not coming from your heart; they are coming from a dead corpse. And you are functioning only like a computer – you are not a theologian, just a machine.”

Each master has to create devices according to his own talents, capacities, genius. For example one of the great Sufi masters, Jalaluddin Rumi, had nothing to say, he was not a man of words – but he knew how to dance. His discourse was that of dancing. He would dance, his disciples would dance, and a certain dancing which is called “whirling,” just standing on one spot and whirling. This dancing had made him enlightened, because he whirled for thirty-six hours, continuously, nonstop, till he fell down. But when he opened his eyes he was a totally different man.
Whirling still goes on. There are dervishes, Sufi followers of Jalaluddin Rumi, who still go on whirling – nothing happens. It was only a device. With Jalaluddin Rumi it was alive; the man gave life to it. With him, dancing was not just dancing. Whirling with Jalaluddin Rumi, you were all slowly becoming stars circling in the sky, and with his grace, with his beauty and with his experience radiating.
Truth is infectious, and there is no antidote to it yet.
For twelve hundred years, dervishes have been whirling; nothing happens. You can go on whirling, but you have forgotten that the whirling was significant because there was a man as a source of radiation – while you were whirling, he was reaching to your hearts.

A story is that a few people had gone hunting and they came across the camp of Jalaluddin Rumi. Just out of curiosity they looked inside the doors. It was a walled garden, and nearabout one hundred disciples were whirling with Jalaluddin Rumi. Those people thought, “These are mad people. Who has ever heard that by whirling you can get truth? In what scripture, in what religion is it written? There is no record. This man is mad, and he is driving so many young people mad.”
They went on. Hunting was far more significant. Obviously it was saner than to dance with Jalaluddin Rumi.
After their hunting, they went back. Just out of curiosity about what had happened to the whirlers, they again looked in the door. They were surprised: those hundred people were sitting under the trees in silence, with closed eyes, as if there was nobody – absolute silence; you could hear the wind blowing through the trees.
Those hunters said, “Poor fellows… Finished. This happens by whirling – all energy lost. Now they are sitting like the dead; perhaps a few are already dead.”
Do you think they started discussing among themselves whether these people had achieved truth? If sitting like this with closed eyes… “What was the need of whirling, you could have sat before.” They went away.
The next month, they went again for hunting. Again, just out of curiosity – “Now what happened to those people – are they really dead, or still sitting, or gone, or what happened?” They looked. There was nobody, only Jalaluddin Rumi was sitting there. They laughed. They said, “Everybody has escaped; they must have understood that this man is mad. He was almost killing them by dancing, whirling. He seems to be an expert, thirty-six hours nonstop; anybody would be dead by that time! No coffee break, no tea break, just continuous whirling…”
So they went in and asked Jalaluddin Rumi, “What happened to your disciples? We had come one month ago and there was a group of at least one hundred people.”
Jalaluddin said, “They danced, they found, they absorbed, and they have gone into the world to spread the message.”
“And what are you doing?” they asked.
He said, “I am waiting for the second batch. My people have gone out; they will be bringing them.”

Yoga is a device. Tantra… All are devices, but only in the hands of the masters. Otherwise everything becomes so ugly, stupid. Now Yoga has become just gymnastics. And the government wants to introduce Yoga in every school, just as an exercise. It is not just an exercise, it is not for the body; yes, the body is used, but it is to realize something beyond the body.
Tantra in the hands of those who don’t understand becomes simply sexual orgies. Otherwise it is one of the greatest devices to transform man’s energy from the lowest chakras to the highest reach, the sahasrar, the seventh chakra – where one comes to know oneself as part of the universal being.
Whether physical, psychological, verbal, any kind of device, the basic need is a living master. Without a living master, everything goes poisonous, dangerous.
I have developed meditations. If you are doing them on your own they can be dangerous, because you don’t know your unconscious mind, your collective unconscious mind, your cosmic unconscious mind. You have so much darkness inside, you can stir sleeping dangers in you. Only with a master is it possible not to fall into the darkness of the unconscious but to rise into the superconscious, into the collective superconscious, into the cosmic superconscious. But the way is always very narrow, a razor’s edge.
You need someone who knows the way not only intellectually, but existentially.

Yesterday I saw you again after so many months – all my questions disappeared by seeing and hearing you. Tell me what is really the secret of this happening – because when I am on my own again, my mind starts doubting and wondering again and again. How can I make this little crazy mind of mine my friend? How can I stop not trusting love? How to stop being afraid of it? I have tried for so long now.
The effort that you are making is basically wrong; hence, the failure. And it is so obvious, that just being here, all your questions disappeared, your doubts evaporated – you were no more a mind, you became a meditation. You became a silence, a loving, peaceful serenity. And you had not done anything; neither have I done anything.
Without my doing anything, without your doing anything, what has happened?
Seeing me after a long time, listening to me, you became so totally attentive that there was no space for any questions to arise. You became so intensely aware that doubts died. Now this can give you the clue: what you are doing alone on your own is a fighting; you are fighting with the mind. You will never win, because the mind can be overcome only by a total awareness, watchfulness, witnessing – but not by fighting.
Don’t call it crazy, don’t condemn it – because that’s how you get engaged in a quarrel. Just stand aside, by the side of the road, and let the whole traffic of the mind pass without any judgment. Your only work is, nothing should pass without your consciousness. You just be conscious and see.
A small story may help:

Gautam Buddha told Ananda one afternoon, as they were walking toward a village, “I am feeling very thirsty. You just go back. We have passed, perhaps two miles back, a beautiful small stream of crystal-clear water; so take my begging bowl and fill it with the water. I will rest under a tree.” He was growing old.
Ananda went back, but as he approached there, a few bullock carts passed through the stream. The crystal-clear water disappeared. It became all muddy, dead leaves that were lying on the bottom started floating on the surface; it was not worth drinking.
He went back. He told Buddha, “That water, we missed. Just as I was arriving a few bullock carts passed and they disturbed the whole water and its purity. It is now all mud, dead leaves; it is certainly not for you. I have not brought it. I will go ahead because I know there is a bigger river ahead and I will bring the water from there.”
But Buddha was very persistent. He said, “You should go back. I don’t know your river, but I have seen that crystal-clear water. You just do one thing: if it is not yet clean, sit down by the side till it is clean again.”
Now there was no other way for Ananda. He had to go back, reluctantly, unwillingly, thinking that Buddha was being too stubborn – “This is not right, that water is not going to be crystal clear again.”
But when he reached the stream he said, “My God, he was right.” The mud had settled, and the leaves had gone down the stream. The water was far better than when he left the last time, although it was still not drinkable. He sat by the side, and within an hour it was again crystal clear.
He took the water and he gave the water to Gautam Buddha and he said, “Please forgive me, because I was angry on the way; I was thinking you were stubborn. I had gone unwillingly – I feel so sad that I did something unwillingly. And now I know it was not only a question of water, because water could be brought from the river too. You were teaching me a method. Sitting by the side of that small stream I learned…
“Because as the stream was getting clearer, there was nothing else to do. Suddenly the parallel came to my mind: perhaps the mind is also in the same situation. You have just to sit by the side and let the mind settle down. It settles, but not by fighting. To fight with the mind is to give energy to it; to fight with the mind is to keep it alive.”

Just sit by the side – no judgment, no appreciation. Do not say anything about the mind: that it is crazy, that it is ugly, that it is disturbing my peace, that it is the only barrier to my spiritual growth. Don’t say a single word; just watch – that is the key, the secret, golden key. Whenever you can, sit silently and watch the mind. And soon a few things will start happening.
One will be that you will see that you are not the mind, you are the watcher. Naturally the mind cannot watch itself, and the moment you realize that you are separate from the mind, it is almost half the victory. And let the mind go on – it is its old habit; maybe for hundreds of lives you have trained it in that way. So don’t be in a hurry, and don’t be impatient.
Rejoice in watching. See the mind more playfully – not seriously, but just like a drama on the screen. Your mind is full of all kinds of stupidities.
This simple process of watching will bring you to the same state that you have felt here. Soon the mud will settle down, the dead leaves will be gone down the stream and there will be a crystal-clear consciousness. To achieve it is the most precious thing in life; from there begins the real pilgrimage toward the divine.

In all the years with you I felt meditations simply “happened” to me. Then in the last time when I was away from you I felt this was not me, but your grace overflowing toward me. For the first time I saw that I needed to give meditation a priority in my life or it would not happen. Now, melting in your presence again, everything I could ever desire is here. Osho, what happens to the disciple when one is without the master?
There are only two possibilities when the disciple is not with the master. One is that he goes back to the zero where he had been before he met the master.
The second is, if you see that without the master things that were happening in his presence are not happening, it simply means that his presence has not become an intrinsic part of your being.
The master need not be outside you. In fact he is always inside you, and if you can remember it: “The master is inside me”… And the master is not asking much, just a small place, a small bedroom with an attached bathroom.
Once you start feeling yourself as carrying the master within yourself, everything that was happening in the presence of the master not only continues but grows a thousandfold. Because it was the master outside, there was a distance. Now there is no more distance; even the distance has disappeared. You are not alone. It is only a question of how much you love, of how deep is your devotion, of how great is your disciplehood.

Whenever you call your therapists your “messengers,” I feel weird and embarrassed. It sounds so big – and I feel so small. The only real therapist I've ever come across anyway is you. I loved the postman story, but the postman these days is somebody totally anonymous; one doesn't even notice he's been there, one just finds the messages. I wish I could be a postman, but I'm not yet a nobody either. Beloved master, is it alright for the time being to be your singing telegram?
The idea of being a messenger looks embarrassing because you have forgotten the simple fact that it is the message that is big; the messenger is nobody.
In fact the messenger has to be a nobody; otherwise the message is going to be distorted. The messenger will mix his own ideas into it, his own mind into it.
In India this has happened on such a grand scale that one cannot even imagine it. Shrimad Bhagavadgita has at least one thousand interpretations – these are the well known ones. Now, Krishna must have had a single meaning when he was talking to Arjuna. It is not possible that he had one thousand meanings; that will simply prove that he is insane – and even if he is not, then Arjuna is going to be insane!
But down the ages his message has been carried by messengers who are interpreting according to their own prejudices, manipulating words to fit their own preconceived ideas. Nobody is concerned with the meaning of the Gita; everybody is concerned to find his philosophy in the Gita. And now the Gita is dead, it is up to you – you can do any kind of intellectual gymnastics. The Gita has become secondary, the message is no longer important, the messenger has become important. Whenever this happens, you should feel embarrassed. But if the message remains important and the messenger simply remains a carrier, a vehicle, a nobody, a hollow bamboo which can become a flute. But the song is not of the bamboo. The only beauty of the bamboo is that it is hollow, that it is not, that it gives way, that it does not hinder the song. It does not distort the song, it brings the song in as pure a form as possible.
To be a messenger is really a device for you to make you a nobody. Don’t become somebody. Don’t think that you are the chosen few – you have been chosen to be the messenger – it is simply a method to destroy your ego and to make a hollow bamboo of you. And once you start feeling like a nobody, you will be surprised how tremendously the message comes, with what clarity, with what authority. The authority is not yours, the clarity is not yours. It is coming from beyond you.
My sannyasins, those I have chosen to be my messengers have to understand it: it is a device to make you nobodies. And once you are nobody, you are all. They are synonymous.

The first days I was here with you, I felt only sheer delight, joy, love and gratitude. Now a coolness is there that scares me. From an attitude of wanting to jump up and down and clap my hands in delight, I now feel less excited. Osho, my beautiful master, I do feel my heart beating with yours – and I feel separate. How can I let you penetrate me more, become each breath that I take, part of my very cells? How can I open more to you so that you can penetrate my being totally, so that I can taste more of your silence? Osho, just writing now, there is no coolness, only tears in my eyes, love in my heart, and anguish.
It is something to be understood by all, that excitement is not the goal of spiritual growth. Excitement cannot be eternal, it will be tiring. Whenever something new happens there will be excitement because it is new, but the excitement has to disappear into calmness, coolness. Coolness can be eternal because coolness is rest.
But there is some fear attached with the word coolness. It reminds one of coldness. Coolness is not coldness. Languages develop in different geographical regions, so remember it. In the West, a warm reception seems to be perfect, but not in Mumbai – here a cool reception with cold drinks will be more appropriate. In our minds these connotations of words cling.
Excitement seems to be equivalent to ecstasy; it is not. Excitement is a state of tension; it feels good because the old is disappearing and the new is coming in. A new breeze, a new experience – it is good to welcome it with an excited heart. But jumping up and down continuously, the guest will think you are mad; that much excitement is found only in mad asylums. When the guest comes it is good – one jump, a good hug; but continuously jumping and hugging, the guest may run out of the house shouting, “Save me, I have entered the wrong house! Is that man mad, or what?”
Excitement is only a welcome, but the welcome is not the whole story. Then coolness has to come, and coolness is far deeper, far more valuable than any excitement can be. So jumping up and down has to stop. Sit silently, be calm and cool. Ecstasy is coolness, it is not excitement.
If you accept coolness, then only will the deeper experience of coolness give you the experience of ecstasy. It will be full of life, but not childish. It will be full of joy, but with a deep contentment. The joy will not be against sadness, the joy will be beyond sadness.
But in the beginning this kind of thing happens to everybody. When you enter meditation it is great excitement. Then things start settling – which is natural, that’s how it should be. When they start getting natural and settled, you can be worried that perhaps you are losing – where is that excitement?
A few people are running after excitement. One wife will not do; get a divorce. For a few days the second wife will be an excitement, but only for a few days. Even if it is a few days, it is more than enough. Yes, somebody else’s wife is always an excitement. If you want excitement then always look at somebody else’s wife – just don’t torture your wife. With your wife learn to be calm and quiet and cool, which are deeper and more valuable experiences.
Excitement is childish. Be more mature. Be a little more alert, centered, and your coolness will become ecstasy. But wait; waiting is the price one has to pay for it.
Otherwise people are living in excitement – from this film to that film, from this circus to that circus, from this teacher to that teacher, from this religion to that religion. So for a moment there is excitement. It is something like itching: it feels good, but don’t scratch too much; otherwise you will bloody yourself.
But the whole world has been trained for excitement, because excitement is a commodity which can be sold; more exciting things can always be brought to you. Coolness is not a commodity. Excitement is a commodity, a very cheap thing. And those who are with me should be aware to drop all cheap things.
Live the precious, the valuable, the eternal.
Coolness is perfectly good, far better than your excitement. And if you can remain cool then coolness will deepen, and the depth brings ecstasy. That is a totally different dimension.
Never misunderstand excitement for ecstasy. Ecstasy is absolutely cool, eternally cool, abysmally cool.

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