For most of my very early years I lived with my mother's parents. Those years are unforgettable. Even if I reach to Dante's paradise I will still remember those years. A small village, poor people, but my grandfather--I mean my mother's father--was a generous man. He was poor, but rich in his generosity. He gave to each and everyone whatsoever he had. I learned the art of giving from him; I have to accept it. I never saw him say no to any beggar or anybody.
I called my mother's father "Nana"; that's the way the mother's father is called in India. My mother's mother is called "Nani." I used to ask my grandfather, "Nana, where did you get such a beautiful wife?"
My grandmother looked more Greek than Indian....
Perhaps there was some Greek blood in her. No race can claim purity. The Indians particularly should not claim any purity of blood--the Hunas, the Moguls, the Greeks and many others have attacked, conquered and ruled India. They have mixed themselves in the Indian blood, and it was so apparent with my grandmother. Her features were not Indian, she looked Greek, and she was a strong woman, very strong. My Nana died when he was not more than fifty. My grandmother lived till eighty and she was fully healthy. Even then nobody thought she was going to die. I promised her one thing, that when she died I would come, and that would be my last visit to the family. She died in 1970. I had to fulfill my promise.
For my first years I knew my Nani as my mother; those are the years when one grows. This circle* is for my Nani. My own mother came after that; I was already grown up, already made in a certain style. And my grandmother helped me immensely. My grandfather loved me, but could not help me much. He was so loving, but to be of help more is needed--a certain kind of strength. He was always afraid of my grandmother. He was, in a sense, a henpecked husband. When it comes to the truth, I am always true. He loved me, he helped me...what can I do if he was a henpecked husband? Ninety-nine point nine percent of husbands are, so it is okay. glimps02
*Note: circle: reminiscences of a series of events, which are now seen to be interconnected, forming a circle
This too is worth noting: that ninety years ago, in India, Nani had had the courage to fall in love. She remained unmarried up till the age of twenty-four. That was very rare. I asked her once why she had remained unmarried for so long. She was such a beautiful woman...I just jokingly told her that even the king of Chhatarpur, the state where Khajuraho is, might have fallen in love with her.
She said, "It is strange that you should mention it, because he did. I refused him, and not only him but many others too." In those days in India, girls were married when they were seven, or at the most nine years of age. Just the fear of love...if they are older they may fall in love. But my grandmother's father was a poet; his songs are still sung in Khajuraho and nearby villages. He insisted that unless she agreed, he was not going to marry her to anybody. As chance would have it, she fell in love with my grandfather.
I asked her, "That is even stranger: you refused the king of Chhatarpur, and yet you fell in love with this poor man. For what? He was certainly not a very handsome man, nor extraordinary in any other way; why did you fall in love with him?"
She said, "You are asking the wrong question. Falling has no 'why' to it. I just saw him, and that was it. I saw his eyes, and a trust arose in me that has never wavered."
I had also asked my grandfather, "Nani says she fell in love with you. That's okay on her part, but why did you allow the marriage to happen?"
He said, "I am not a poet or a thinker, but I can recognize beauty when I see it."
I never saw a more beautiful woman than my Nani. I myself was in love with her, and loved her throughout her whole life....
I am fortunate in many ways, but I was most fortunate in having my maternal grandparents...and those early golden years. glimps06
I was born in a family which belongs to a very small section of Jainism...it follows a madman who must have been just a little bit less mad than me. I cannot say more mad than me.
I am going to talk about his two books, which are not translated in English, not even into Hindi, because they are untranslatable. I don't think that he is ever going to have any international audience. Impossible. He believes in no language, no grammar, nothing whatsoever. He speaks exactly like a madman. His book is Shunya Svabhava--"The Nature of Emptiness."
It is just a few pages, but of tremendous significance. Each sentence contains scriptures, but very difficult to understand. You will naturally ask how could I understand him. In the first place just as Martin Buber was born into a Hassid family, I was born into this madman's tradition. His name is Taran Taran. It is not his real name, but nobody knows his real name. Taran Taran simply means "The Savior." That has become his name.
I have breathed him from my very childhood, listened to his songs, wondered what he meant. But a child never cares about the meaning...the song was beautiful, the rhythm was beautiful, the dance was beautiful, and it is enough.
One needs to understand such people only if one is grown up, otherwise, if from their very childhood they are surrounded by the milieu they will not need to understand and yet deep down in their guts they will understand.
I understand Taran Taran--not intellectually, but existentially. Moreover I also know what he is talking about. Even if I had not been born into a family of his followers I would have understood him. I have understood so many different traditions and it is not that I have been born into all of them...I have understood so many madmen that anybody could go mad just by making an effort to understand them! But just look at me, they have not affected me at all.... They have remained somewhere below me. I have remained transcendental to them all.
Still, I would have understood Taran Taran. I may not have come into contact with him, that is possible, because his followers are very few, just a few thousand, and found only in the middle parts of India. And they are so afraid because of their being in such a minority, that they don't call themselves the followers of Taran Taran, they call themselves Jainas. Secretly they believe, not in Mahavira as the rest of the Jainas believe, but in Taran Taran, the founder of their sect.
Jainism itself is a very small religion; only three million people believe in it. There are two main sects: the Digambaras, and the Svetambaras. The Digambaras believe that Mahavira lived naked, and was naked. The word digambara means "sky clad"; metaphorically it means "the naked." This is the oldest sect.
The word svetambara means the "white clad," and the followers of this sect believe that although Mahavira was naked he was covered by the gods in an invisible white cloth...this is a compromise just to satisfy the Hindus.
The followers of Taran Taran belong to the Digambara sect, and they are the most revolutionary of the Jainas. They don't even worship the statues of Mahavira; their temples are empty, signifying the inner emptiness.
It would have been almost impossible to have come to know Taran if not for the chance that I was born into a family who believed in him. But I thank God, it was worth the trouble to be born into that family. All the troubles can be forgiven just for this one thing, that they acquainted me with a tremendous mystic.
His book Shunya Svabhava says only one thing again and again, just like a madman. You know me, you can understand. I have been saying the same thing again and again for twenty-five years...I've said again and again "Awake!" That's what he does in Shunya Svabhava. books14
Nana used to go to the temple every morning, yet he never said, "Come with me." He never indoctrinated me. That is what is great...not to indoctrinate. It is so human to force a helpless child to follow your beliefs. But he remained untempted--yes, I call it the greatest temptation. The moment you see someone dependent on you in any way, you start indoctrinating. He never even said to me, "You are a Jaina."
I remember perfectly--it was the time that the census was being taken. The officer had come to our house. He made many inquiries about many things. They asked about my grandfather's religion; he said, "Jainism." They then asked about my grandmother's religion. My Nana said, "You can ask her yourself. Religion is a private affair. I myself have never asked her." What a man!
My grandmother answered, "I do not believe in any religion whatsoever. All religions look childish to me." The officer was shocked. Even I was taken aback. She does not believe in any religion at all! In India to find a woman who does not believe in any religion at all is impossible. But she was born in Khajuraho, perhaps into a family of Tantrikas, who have never believed in any religion. They have practiced meditation but they have never believed in any religion.
It sounds very illogical to a Western mind: meditation without religion? Yes...in fact, if you believe in any religion you cannot meditate. Religion is an interference in your meditation. Meditation needs no God, no heaven, no hell, no fear of punishment, and no allurement of pleasure. Meditation has nothing to do with mind; meditation is beyond it, whereas religion is only mind, it is within mind.
I know Nani never went to the temple, but she taught me one mantra which I will reveal for the first time. It is a Jaina mantra, but it has nothing to do with Jainas as such. It is purely accidental that it is related to Jainism....
The mantra is so beautiful. It is going to be difficult to translate it, but I will do my best...or my worst. First listen to the mantra in its original beauty:
Namo arihantanam namo namo
Namo siddhanam namo namo
Namo uvajjhayanam namo namo
Namo loye savva sahunam namo namo
Aeso panch nammukaro
Savva pavappanasano
Mangalam cha savvesam padhamam havai mangalam
Arihante saranam pavajjhami
Siddhe saranam pavajjhami
Sahu saranam pavajjhami
Namo arihantanam namo namo
Namo siddhanam namo namo
Namo uvajjhayanam namo namo
Om, shantih, shantih, shantih....
Now my effort at translation: "I go to the feet of, I bow down to, the arihantas...." Arihanta is the name in Jainism, as arhat is in Buddhism, for one who has achieved the ultimate but cares nothing about anybody else. He has come home and turned his back on the world. He does not create a religion, he does not even preach, he does not even declare. Of course he has to be remembered first. The first remembrance is for all those who have known and remained silent. The first respect is not for words, but for silence. Not for serving others, but for the sheer achievement of one's self. It does not matter whether one serves others or not; that is secondary, not primary. The primary is that one has achieved one's self, and it is so difficult in this world to know one's self....
The Jainas call the person arihanta who has attained to himself and is so drowned, so drunk in the beautitude of his realization that he has forgotten the whole world. The word 'arihanta' literally means "one who has killed the enemy"--and the enemy is the ego. The first part of the mantra means, "I touch the feet of the one who has attained himself."
The second part is: Namo siddhanam namo namo. This mantra is in Prakrit, not Sanskrit. Prakrit is the language of the Jainas; it is more ancient than Sanskrit. The very word 'sanskrit' means refined. You can understand by the word 'refined' there must have been something before it, otherwise what are you going to refine? 'Prakrit' means unrefined, natural, raw, and the Jainas are correct when they say their language is the most ancient in the world. Their religion too is the most ancient.
The Hindu scripture Rigveda mentions the first master of the Jainas, Adinatha. That certainly means it is far more ancient than Rigveda. Rigveda is the oldest book in the world, and it talks about the Jaina tirthankara, Adinatha, with such respect that one thing is certain, that he could not have been a contemporary of the people writing Rigveda....
The mantra is in Prakrit, raw and unrefined. The second line is: Namo siddhanam namo namo--"I touch the feet of the one who has become his being." So, what is the difference between the first and the second?
The arihanta never looks back, never bothers about any kind of service, Christian or otherwise. The siddha, once in a while holds out his hand to drowning humanity, but only once in a while, not always. It is not a necessity, it is not compulsory, it is his choice; he may or he may not.
Hence the third: Namo uvajjhayanam namo namo..."I touch the feet of the masters, the uvajjhaya." They have achieved the same, but they face the world, they serve the world. They are in the world and not of it...but still in it.
The fourth: Namo loye savva sahunam namo namo..."I touch the feet of the teachers." You know the subtle difference between a master and a teacher. The master has known, and imparts what he has known. The teacher has received from one who has known, and delivers it intact to the world, but he himself has not known.
The composers of this mantra are really beautiful; they even touch the feet of those who have not known themselves, but at least are carrying the message of the masters to the masses.
Number five is one of the most significant sentences I have ever come across in my whole life. It is strange that it was given to me by my grandmother when I was a small child. When I explain it to you, you too will see the beauty of it. Only she was capable of giving it to me. I don't know anybody else who had the guts to really proclaim it, although all Jainas repeat it in their temples. But to repeat is one thing; to impart it to one you love is totally another.
"I touch the feet of all those who have known themselves"...without any distinction, whether they are Hindus, Jainas, Buddhists, Christians, Mohammedans. The mantra says, "I touch the feet of all those who have known themselves." This is the only mantra, as far as I know, which is absolutely nonsectarian.
The other four parts are not different from the fifth, they are all contained in it, but it has a vastness which those others do not have. The fifth line must be written on all the temples, all the churches, irrespective of to whom they belong, because it says, "I touch the feet of all those who have known it." It does not say "who have known God." Even the "it" can be dropped: I am only putting "it" in the translation. The original simply means "touching the feet of those who have known"--no "it." I am putting "it" in just to fulfill the demands of your language; otherwise someone is bound to ask, "Known? Known what? What is the object of knowledge?" There is no object of knowledge; there is nothing to know, only the knower.
This mantra was the only religious thing, if you can call it religious, given to me by my grandmother, and that too, not by my grandfather but by my grandmother...because one night I asked her. One night she said, "You look awake. Can't you sleep? Are you planning tomorrow's mischief?"
I said, "No, but somehow a question is arising in me. Everybody has a religion, and when people ask me, 'To what religion do you belong?' I shrug my shoulders. Now, certainly shrugging your shoulders is not a religion, so I want to ask you, what should I say?"
She said, "I myself don't belong to any religion, but I love this mantra, and this is all I can give you--not because it is traditionally Jaina, but only because I have known its beauty. I have repeated it millions of times and always I have found tremendous peace...just the feeling of touching the feet of all those who have known. I can give you this mantra; more than that is not possible for me."
Now I can say that woman was really great, because as far as religion is concerned, everybody is lying: Christians, Jews, Jainas, Mohammedans--everybody is lying. They all talk of God, heaven and hell, angels and all kinds of nonsense, without knowing anything at all. She was great, not because she knew but because she was unable to lie to a child. Nobody should lie--to a child at least it is unforgivable.
Children have been exploited for centuries just because they are willing to trust. You can lie to them very easily and they will trust you. If you are a father, a mother, they will think you are bound to be true. That's how the whole of humanity lives in corruption, in a thick mud, very slippery, a thick mud of lies told to children for centuries.
If we can do just one thing, a simple thing: not lie to children, and to confess to them our ignorance, then we will be religious, and we will put them on the path of religion. Children are only innocence; leave them not your so-called knowledge. But you yourself must first be innocent, unlying, true, even if it shatters your ego--and it will shatter. It is bound to shatter.
My grandfather never told me to go to the temple, to follow him. I used to follow him many times, but he would say, "Go away. If you want to go to the temple, go alone. Don't follow me."
He was not a hard man, but on this point he was absolutely hard. I asked him again and again, "Can you give me something of your experience?" And he would always avoid it....
"Namo arihantanam namo namo
Namo siddhanam namo namo
Namo uvajjhayanam namo namo
Namo loye savva sahunam namo namo
Om, shantih, shantih, shantih...."
What does it mean? It means "Om"--the ultimate sound of soundlessness. And he disappeared like a dewdrop in the first rays of the sun.
There is only peace, peace, peace.... I am entering into it now....
Namo arihantanam namo namo....
I go to the feet of those who have known.
I go to the feet of those who have achieved.
I go to the feet of all who are masters.
I go to the feet of all the teachers.
I go to the feet of all who have ever known,
Unconditionally.
Om, shantih, shantih, shantih. glimps05
My grandfather wanted the greatest astrologers in India to make my birth chart. Although he was not very rich--in fact not even rich, what to say of very rich, but in that village he was the richest person--he was ready to pay any price for the birth chart. He made the long journey to Varanasi and saw the famous men. Looking at the notes and dates my grandfather had brought, the greatest astrologer of them all said, "I am sorry, I can only make this birth chart after seven years. If the child survives then I will make his chart without any charge, but I don't think he will survive. If he does it will be a miracle, because then there is a possibility for him to become a buddha."
My grandfather came home weeping. I had never seen tears in his eyes. I asked, "What is the matter?"
He said, "I have to wait until you are seven. Who knows whether I will survive those years or not? Who knows whether the astrologer himself will survive, because he is so old. And I am a little concerned about you."
I said, "What's the concern?"
He said, "The concern is not that you may die, my concern is that you may become a buddha."
I laughed, and amongst his tears he also started laughing. Then he himself said, "It is strange that I was worried. Yes, what is wrong in being a buddha?"...
When I was seven an astrologer came to my grandfather's village searching for me. When a beautiful horse stopped in front of our house, we all rushed out. The horse looked so royal, and the rider was none other than one of the famous astrologers.... He said to me, "So you are still alive? I have made your birth chart. I was worried, because people like you don't survive long."
My grandfather sold all the ornaments in the house just to give a feast for all the neighboring villages, to celebrate that I was going to become a buddha, and yet I don't think he even understood the meaning of the word 'buddha'.
He was a Jaina and may not have even heard it before. But he was happy, immensely happy...dancing, because I was to become a buddha. At that moment I could not believe that he could be so happy just because of this word 'buddha'. When everyone had departed I asked him, "What is the meaning of 'buddha'?"
He said, "I don't know, it just sounds good. Moreover I am a Jaina. We will find out from some Buddhist."
In that small village there were no Buddhists, but he said, "Someday, when a passing Buddhist bhikkhu comes by, we will know the meaning."
But he was so happy just because the astrologer had said that I was to become a buddha. He then said to me, "I guess 'buddha' must mean someone who is very intelligent." In Hindi buddhi means intelligence, so he thought 'buddha' meant the intelligent one.
He came very close, he almost guessed right. Alas that he is not alive, otherwise he would have seen what being a buddha means--not the dictionary meaning, but an encounter with a living, awakened one. And I can see him dancing, seeing that his grandson has become a buddha. That would have been enough to make him enlightened! But he died. His death was one of my most significant experiences. Of that, later on. glimps02
And to me he was not just a maternal grandfather.
It is very difficult for me to define what he was to me. He used to call me Rajah--rajah means the king--and for those seven years he managed to have me live like a king. On my birthday he used to bring an elephant from a nearby town.... Elephants in India, in those days, were kept either by kings--because it is very costly, the maintenance, the food and the service that the elephant requires--or by saints.
Two types of people used to have them. The saints could have elephants because they had so many followers. Just as the followers looked after the saint, they looked after the elephant. Nearby there was a saint who had an elephant, so for my birthday my maternal grandfather used to bring the elephant. He would put me on the elephant with two bags, one on either side, full of silver coins....
In my childhood, in India, notes had not appeared; pure silver was still used for the rupee. My grandfather would fill two bags, big bags, hanging on either side, with silver coins, and I would go around the village throwing the silver coins. That's how he used to celebrate my birthday. Once I started, he would come in his bullock cart behind me with more rupees, and he would go on telling me, "Don't be miserly--I am keeping enough. You cannot throw more than I have. Go on throwing!"
Naturally, the whole village followed the elephant. It was not a big village either, not more than two or three hundred people in the whole village, so I would go around the village, the only street in the village. He managed in every possible way to give me the idea that I belonged to some royal family. person27
In my Nani's village I was continuously either in the lake or in the river. The river was a little too far away, perhaps two miles, so I had to choose the lake more often. But once in a while I used to go to the river, because the quality of a river and a lake are totally different. A lake, in a certain way, is dead, closed, not flowing, not going anywhere at all, static. That's the meaning of death: it is not dynamic.
The river is always on the go, rushing to some unknown goal, perhaps not knowing at all what that goal is, but it reaches, knowing or unknowing--it reaches the goal. The lake never moves. It remains where it is, dormant, simply dying, every day dying; there is no resurrection. But the river, howsoever small, is as big as the ocean, because sooner or later it is going to become the ocean.
I have always loved the feel of the flow: just going, that flux, that continuous movement...aliveness. So, even though the river was two miles away, I used once in a while to go just to have the taste. glimps27
I used to swim in the lake. Naturally my grandfather was afraid. He put a strange man to guard over me, in a boat. In that primitive village you cannot conceive what a "boat" meant. It is called a dongi. It is nothing but the hollowed-out trunk of a tree. It is not an ordinary boat. It is round, and that is the danger: unless you are an expert you cannot row it. It can roll at any moment. Just a little imbalance and you are gone forever. It is very dangerous.
I learned balance through rowing a dongi. Nothing could be more helpful. I learned the "middle way" because you have to be exactly in the middle: this way, and you are gone; that way, and you are gone. You cannot even breathe, and you have to remain absolutely silent; only then can you row the dongi. glimps03
During those first years when I lived with my grandfather, I was absolutely protected from punishment. He never said "Do this," or "Don't do that." On the contrary he put his most obedient servant, Bhoora, at my service, to protect me. Bhoora used to carry a very primitive gun with him. He used to follow me at a distance, but that was enough to frighten the villagers. That was enough to allow me to do whatsoever I wanted.
Anything one could imagine...like riding on a buffalo backwards with Bhoora following....
In my village particularly, and all over India, nobody rides on a buffalo. The Chinese are strange people, and this person Lao Tzu was the strangest of all. But God knows, and only God knows, how I discovered the idea--even I don't know--to sit on a buffalo in the marketplace, backwards. I assume it was because I always liked anything absurd....
Those early years--if they could be given to me again, I would be ready to be born again. But you know, and I know, nothing can be repeated. That's why I am saying that I would be ready to be born again; otherwise who wants to, even though those days were full of beauty....
I was so mischievous. I cannot live without it; it is my nourishment. I can understand the old man, my grandfather, and the trouble my mischief caused him. The whole day he would sit on his gaddi--as the seat of a rich man is called in India--listening less to his customers, and more to the complainers. But he used to say to them, "I am ready to pay for any damage he has done, but remember, I am not going to punish him."
Perhaps his very patience with me, a mischievous child...even I could not tolerate it. If a child like that was given to me and for years...my God! Even for minutes and I would throw the child out of the door forever. Perhaps those years worked a miracle for my grandfather; that immense patience paid. He became more and more silent. I saw it growing every day. Once in a while I would say, "Nana, you can punish me. You need not be so tolerant." And, can you believe it, he would cry! Tears would come to his eyes, and he would say, "Punish you? I cannot do that. I can punish myself but not you."
Never, for a single moment, have I ever seen the shadow of anger towards me in his eyes--and believe me, I did everything that one thousand children could do. In the morning, even before breakfast I was into my mischief, until late at night. Sometimes I would come home so late--three o'clock in the morning. But what a man he was! He never said, "You are too late. This is not the time for a child to come home." No, not even once. In fact, in front of me he would avoid looking at the clock on the wall. glimps05
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Osho is born in the village of Kuchwada
The East has never bothered about birthdays. The East simply laughs at the whole absurdity of it. What has chronological time to do with Krishna's birth? We don't have any record. Or we have many records, contradictory, contradicting each other.
But, see, I was born on eleventh December. If it can be proved that I was not born on eleventh December, will it be enough proof that I was never born? yoga907
I was incarnated into this body on this day. This is the day I saw for the first time the green of the trees and the blue of the skies. This was the day I for the first time opened my eyes and saw God all around. Of course the word 'God' didn't exist at that moment, but what I saw was God. body01
You can ask my mother something.... After my birth, for three days I didn't take any milk, and they were all worried, concerned. The doctors were concerned, because how was this child going to survive if he simply refused to take milk? But they had no idea of my difficulty, of what difficulty they were creating for me. They were trying to force me in every possible way. And there was no way I could explain to them, or that they could find out by themselves.
In my past life, before I died, I was on a fast. I wanted to complete a twenty-one day fast, but I was murdered before my fast was complete, three days before. Those three days remained in my awareness even in this birth; I had to complete my fast. I am really stubborn! Otherwise, people don't carry things from one life to another life; once a chapter is closed, it is closed.
But for three days they could not manage to put anything in my mouth; I simply rejected it. But after three days I was perfectly okay and they were all surprised: "Why was he refusing for three days? There was no sickness, no problem--and after three days he is perfectly normal." It remained a mystery to them.
But these things I don't want to talk about because to you they will all be hypothetical, and there is no way for me to prove them scientifically. And I don't want to give you any belief, so I go on cutting all that may create any belief system in your mind.
You love me, you trust me, so whatever I say you may trust it. But I insist, again and again, that anything that is not based on your experience, accept it only hypothetically. Don't make it your belief. If sometimes I give an example, that is sheer necessity--because the person has asked, "How did you manage to be so courageous and sharp in your childhood?"
I have not done anything, I have simply continued what I was doing in my past life. And that's why in my childhood I was thought to be crazy, eccentric--because I would not give any explanation of why I wanted to do something. I would simply say, "I want to do it. There are reasons for me, why I am doing it, but I cannot give you those reasons because you cannot understand."... misery09
I am reminded again of the small village where I was born. Why existence should have chosen that small village in the first place is unexplainable. It is as it should be. The village was beautiful. I have traveled far and wide but I have never come across that same beauty. One never comes again to the same. Things come and go, but it is never the same.
I can see that still, small village. Just a few huts near a pond, and a few tall trees where I used to play. There was no school in the village. That is of great importance, because I remained uneducated for almost nine years, and those are the most formative years. After that, even if you try, you cannot be educated. So in a way I am still uneducated, although I hold many degrees. Any uneducated man could have done it. And not any degree, but a first-class master's degree--that too can be done by any fool. So many fools do it every year that it has no significance. What is significant is that for my first years I remained without education. There was no school, no road, no railway, no post office. What a blessing! That small village was a world unto itself. Even in my times away from that village I remained in that world, uneducated.
I have read Ruskin's famous book, Unto This Last, and when I was reading it I was thinking of that village. Unto This Last...that village is still unaltered. No road connects it, no railway passes by, even now after almost fifty years; no post office, no police station, no doctor--in fact nobody falls ill in that village, it is so pure and so unpolluted. I have known people in that village who have not seen a railway train, who wonder what it looks like, who have not even seen a bus or a car. They have never left the village. They live so blissfully and silently.
My birthplace, Kuchwada, was a village with no railway line and no post office. It had small hills, hillocks rather, but a beautiful lake, and a few huts, just straw huts. The only brick house was the one I was born in, and that too was not much of a brick house. It was just a little house.
I can see it now, and can describe its every detail...but more than the house or the village, I remember the people. I have come across millions of people, but the people of that village were more innocent than any, because they were very primitive. They knew nothing of the world. Not even a single newspaper had ever entered that village. You can now understand why there was no school, not even a primary school...what a blessing! No modern child can afford it.
I remained uneducated for those years and they were the most beautiful years....
Kuchwada was surrounded by small hills and there was a small pond. Nobody could describe that pond except Basho. Even he does not describe the pond, he simply says:
The ancient pond
Frog jumps in
Plop!
Is this a description? The pond is only mentioned, the frog too. No description of the pond or the frog...and plop!
The village had an ancient pond, very ancient, and very ancient trees surrounding it--they were perhaps hundreds of years old--and beautiful rocks all around...and certainly the frogs jumped. Day in and day out you could hear "plop," again and again. The sound of frogs jumping really helped the prevailing silence. That sound made the silence richer, more meaningful.
This is the beauty of Basho: he could describe something without actually describing it. He could say something without even mentioning a word. "Plop!" Now, is this a word? No word could do justice to the sound of a frog jumping into the ancient pond, but Basho did it justice.
I am not a Basho, and that village needed a Basho. Perhaps he would have made beautiful sketches, paintings, and haikus.... I have not done anything about that village--you will wonder why--I have not even visited it again. Once is enough. I never go to a place twice. For me number two does not exist. I have left many villages, many towns, never to return again. Once gone, gone forever, that's my way; so I have not returned to that village. The villagers have sent messages to me to come at least once more. I told them through a messenger, "I have been there once already, twice is not my way."
But the silence of that ancient pond stays with me. glimps01
I was a lonely child because I was brought up by my maternal grandfather and grandmother; I was not with my father and mother. Those two old people were alone and they wanted a child who would be the joy of their last days. So my father and mother agreed: I was their eldest child, the first-born; they sent me.
I don't remember any relationship with my father's family in the early years of my childhood. With these two old men--my grandfather and his old servant, who was really a beautiful man--and my old grandmother...these three people. And the gap was so big...I was absolutely alone. It was not company, it could not be company. They tried their hardest to be as friendly to me as possible but it was just not possible.
I was left to myself. I could not say things to them. I had nobody else, because in that small village my family were the richest; and it was such a small village--not more than two hundred people in all--and so poor that my grandparents would not allow me to mix with the village children. They were dirty, and of course they were almost beggars. So there was no way to have friends. That caused a great impact. In my whole life I have never been a friend, I have never known anybody to be a friend. Yes, acquaintances I had.
In those first, early years I was so lonely that I started enjoying it; and it is really a joy. So it was not a curse to me, it proved a blessing. I started enjoying it, and I started feeling self-sufficient; I was not dependent on anybody.
I have never been interested in games for the simple reason that from my very childhood there was no way to play, there was nobody to play with. I can still see myself in those earliest years, just sitting.
We had a beautiful spot where our house was, just in front of a lake. Far away for miles, the lake...and it was so beautiful and so silent. Only once in while would you see a line of white cranes flying, or making love calls, and the peace would be disturbed; otherwise, it was almost the right place for meditation. And when they would disturb the peace--a love call from a bird...after his call the peace would deepen, it would become deeper.
The lake was full of lotus flowers, and I would sit for hours so self-content, as if the world did not matter: the lotuses, the white cranes, the silence....
And my grandparents were very aware of one thing, that I enjoyed my aloneness. They had continuously been seeing that I had no desire to go to the village to meet anybody, or to talk with anybody. Even if they wanted to talk my answers were yes, or no; I was not interested in talking either. So they became aware of one thing, that I enjoyed my aloneness, and it was their sacred duty not to disturb me.
So for seven years continuously nobody tried to corrupt my innocence; there was nobody. Those three old people who lived in the house, the servant and my grandparents, were all protective in every possible way that nobody should disturb me. In fact I started feeling, as I grew up, a little embarrassed that because of me they could not talk, they could not be normal as everybody is. It was just the opposite situation....
It happens with children that you tell them, "Be silent because your father is thinking, your grandfather is resting. Be quiet, sit silently." In my childhood it happened the opposite way. Now I cannot answer why and how; it simply happened. That's why I said it simply happened--the credit does not go to me.
All those three old people were continuously making signs to each other: "Don't disturb him--he is enjoying so much." And they started loving my silence.
Silence has its vibe; it is infectious, particularly a child's silence which is not forced, which is not because you are saying, "I will beat you if you create any nuisance or noise." No, that is not silence. That will not create the joyous vibration that I am talking about, when a child is silent on his own, enjoying for no reason; his happiness is uncaused. That creates great ripples all around.
In a better world, every family will learn from children. You are in such a hurry to teach them. Nobody seems to learn from them, and they have much to teach you. And you have nothing to teach them.
Just because you are older and powerful you start making them just like you without ever thinking about what you are, where you have reached, what your status is in the inner world. You are a pauper; and you want the same for your child also?
But nobody thinks; otherwise people would learn from small children. Children bring so much from the other world because they are such fresh arrivals. They still carry the silence of the womb, the silence of the very existence.
So it was just a coincidence that for seven years I remained undisturbed--no one to nag me, to prepare me for the world of business, politics, diplomacy. My grandparents were more interested in leaving me as natural as possible--particularly my grandmother. She is one of the causes--these small things affect all your life patterns--she is one of the causes of my respect for the whole of womanhood.
She was a simple woman, uneducated, but immensely sensitive. She made it clear to my grandfather and the servant: "We all have lived a certain kind of life which has not led us anywhere. We are as empty as ever, and now death is coming close." She insisted, "Let this child be uninfluenced by us. What influence can we...? We can only make him like us, and we are nothing. Give him an opportunity to be himself."
My grandfather--I heard them discussing in the night, thinking that I was asleep--used to say to her, "You are telling me to do this, and I am doing it; but he is somebody else's son, and sooner or later he will have to go to his parents. What will they say?--`You have not taught him any manners, any etiquette, he is absolutely wild.'"
She said, "Don't be worried about that. In this whole world everybody is civilized, has manners, etiquette, but what is the gain? You are very civilized--what have you got out of it? At the most his parents will be angry at us. So what?--let them be angry. They can't harm us, and by that time the child will be strong enough that they cannot change his life course."
I am tremendously grateful to that old woman. My grandfather was again and again worried that sooner or later he was going to be responsible: "They will say, `We left our child with you and you have not taught him anything.'"
My grandmother did not even allow...because there was one man in the village who could at least teach me the beginnings of language, mathematics, a little geography. He was educated to the fourth grade--the lowest four; that is what was called primary education in India. But he was the most educated man in the town.
My grandfather tried hard: "He can come and he can teach him. At least he will know the alphabet, some mathematics, so when he goes to his parents they will not say that we just wasted seven years completely."
But my grandmother said, "Let them do whatsoever they want to do after seven years. For seven years he has to be just his natural self, and we are not going to interfere." And her argument was always, "You know the alphabet, so what? You know mathematics, so what? You have earned a little money; do you want him also to earn a little money and live just like you?"
That was enough to keep that old man silent. What to do? He was in a difficulty because he could not argue, and he knew that he would be held responsible, not she, because my father would ask him, "What have you done?" And actually that would have been the case, but fortunately he died before my father could ask.
But my father continuously was saying, "That old man is responsible, he has spoiled the child." But now I was strong enough, and I made it clear to him: "Before me, never say a single word against my maternal grandfather. He has saved me from being spoiled by you--that is your real anger. But you have other children--spoil them. And at the final stage you will say who IS spoiled."
He had other children, and more and more children went on coming. I used to tease him, "You please bring one child more, make it a dozen. Eleven children? People ask, "How many children?" Eleven does not look right; one dozen is more impressive."
And in later years I used to tell him, "You go on spoiling all your children; I am wild, and I will remain wild."
What you see as innocence is nothing but wildness. What you see as clarity is nothing but wildness. Somehow I remained out of the grip of civilization.
And once I was strong enough.... And that's why people insist, "Take hold of the child as quickly as possible, don't waste time because the earlier you take hold of the child, the easier it is. Once the child becomes strong enough, then to bend him according to your desires will be difficult."
And life has seven-year circles. By the seventh year the child is perfectly strong; now you cannot do anything. Now he knows where to go, what to do. He is capable of arguing. He is capable of seeing what is right and what is wrong. And his clarity will be at the climax when he is seven. If you don't disturb his earlier years, then at the seventh he is so crystal clear about everything that his whole life will be lived without any repentance.
I have lived without any repentance. I have tried to find: Have I done anything wrong, ever? Not that people have been thinking that all that I have done is right, that is not the point: I have never thought anything that I have done was wrong. The whole world may think it was wrong, but to me there is absolute certainty that it was right; it was the right thing to do.
So there is no question of repenting about the past. And when you don't have to repent about the past you are free from it. The past keeps you entangled like an octopus because you go on feeling, "That thing I should not have done," or, "That thing which I was supposed to do and did not do...." All those things go on pulling you backwards.
I don't see anything behind me, no past.
If I say something about my past, it is simply factual memory, it has no psychological involvement. I am telling you as if I am telling you about somebody else. It is just factual; it has nothing to do with my personal involvement. It might have occurred to somebody else, it might have happened to somebody else.
So remember, a factual memory is not enslaving. Psychological memory is, and psychological memory is made up of things that you think, or you have been conditioned to think, were wrong and you did them. Then there is a wound, a psychological wound. dark02
But, see, I was born on eleventh December. If it can be proved that I was not born on eleventh December, will it be enough proof that I was never born? yoga907
I was incarnated into this body on this day. This is the day I saw for the first time the green of the trees and the blue of the skies. This was the day I for the first time opened my eyes and saw God all around. Of course the word 'God' didn't exist at that moment, but what I saw was God. body01
You can ask my mother something.... After my birth, for three days I didn't take any milk, and they were all worried, concerned. The doctors were concerned, because how was this child going to survive if he simply refused to take milk? But they had no idea of my difficulty, of what difficulty they were creating for me. They were trying to force me in every possible way. And there was no way I could explain to them, or that they could find out by themselves.
In my past life, before I died, I was on a fast. I wanted to complete a twenty-one day fast, but I was murdered before my fast was complete, three days before. Those three days remained in my awareness even in this birth; I had to complete my fast. I am really stubborn! Otherwise, people don't carry things from one life to another life; once a chapter is closed, it is closed.
But for three days they could not manage to put anything in my mouth; I simply rejected it. But after three days I was perfectly okay and they were all surprised: "Why was he refusing for three days? There was no sickness, no problem--and after three days he is perfectly normal." It remained a mystery to them.
But these things I don't want to talk about because to you they will all be hypothetical, and there is no way for me to prove them scientifically. And I don't want to give you any belief, so I go on cutting all that may create any belief system in your mind.
You love me, you trust me, so whatever I say you may trust it. But I insist, again and again, that anything that is not based on your experience, accept it only hypothetically. Don't make it your belief. If sometimes I give an example, that is sheer necessity--because the person has asked, "How did you manage to be so courageous and sharp in your childhood?"
I have not done anything, I have simply continued what I was doing in my past life. And that's why in my childhood I was thought to be crazy, eccentric--because I would not give any explanation of why I wanted to do something. I would simply say, "I want to do it. There are reasons for me, why I am doing it, but I cannot give you those reasons because you cannot understand."... misery09
I am reminded again of the small village where I was born. Why existence should have chosen that small village in the first place is unexplainable. It is as it should be. The village was beautiful. I have traveled far and wide but I have never come across that same beauty. One never comes again to the same. Things come and go, but it is never the same.
I can see that still, small village. Just a few huts near a pond, and a few tall trees where I used to play. There was no school in the village. That is of great importance, because I remained uneducated for almost nine years, and those are the most formative years. After that, even if you try, you cannot be educated. So in a way I am still uneducated, although I hold many degrees. Any uneducated man could have done it. And not any degree, but a first-class master's degree--that too can be done by any fool. So many fools do it every year that it has no significance. What is significant is that for my first years I remained without education. There was no school, no road, no railway, no post office. What a blessing! That small village was a world unto itself. Even in my times away from that village I remained in that world, uneducated.
I have read Ruskin's famous book, Unto This Last, and when I was reading it I was thinking of that village. Unto This Last...that village is still unaltered. No road connects it, no railway passes by, even now after almost fifty years; no post office, no police station, no doctor--in fact nobody falls ill in that village, it is so pure and so unpolluted. I have known people in that village who have not seen a railway train, who wonder what it looks like, who have not even seen a bus or a car. They have never left the village. They live so blissfully and silently.
My birthplace, Kuchwada, was a village with no railway line and no post office. It had small hills, hillocks rather, but a beautiful lake, and a few huts, just straw huts. The only brick house was the one I was born in, and that too was not much of a brick house. It was just a little house.
I can see it now, and can describe its every detail...but more than the house or the village, I remember the people. I have come across millions of people, but the people of that village were more innocent than any, because they were very primitive. They knew nothing of the world. Not even a single newspaper had ever entered that village. You can now understand why there was no school, not even a primary school...what a blessing! No modern child can afford it.
I remained uneducated for those years and they were the most beautiful years....
Kuchwada was surrounded by small hills and there was a small pond. Nobody could describe that pond except Basho. Even he does not describe the pond, he simply says:
The ancient pond
Frog jumps in
Plop!
Is this a description? The pond is only mentioned, the frog too. No description of the pond or the frog...and plop!
The village had an ancient pond, very ancient, and very ancient trees surrounding it--they were perhaps hundreds of years old--and beautiful rocks all around...and certainly the frogs jumped. Day in and day out you could hear "plop," again and again. The sound of frogs jumping really helped the prevailing silence. That sound made the silence richer, more meaningful.
This is the beauty of Basho: he could describe something without actually describing it. He could say something without even mentioning a word. "Plop!" Now, is this a word? No word could do justice to the sound of a frog jumping into the ancient pond, but Basho did it justice.
I am not a Basho, and that village needed a Basho. Perhaps he would have made beautiful sketches, paintings, and haikus.... I have not done anything about that village--you will wonder why--I have not even visited it again. Once is enough. I never go to a place twice. For me number two does not exist. I have left many villages, many towns, never to return again. Once gone, gone forever, that's my way; so I have not returned to that village. The villagers have sent messages to me to come at least once more. I told them through a messenger, "I have been there once already, twice is not my way."
But the silence of that ancient pond stays with me. glimps01
I was a lonely child because I was brought up by my maternal grandfather and grandmother; I was not with my father and mother. Those two old people were alone and they wanted a child who would be the joy of their last days. So my father and mother agreed: I was their eldest child, the first-born; they sent me.
I don't remember any relationship with my father's family in the early years of my childhood. With these two old men--my grandfather and his old servant, who was really a beautiful man--and my old grandmother...these three people. And the gap was so big...I was absolutely alone. It was not company, it could not be company. They tried their hardest to be as friendly to me as possible but it was just not possible.
I was left to myself. I could not say things to them. I had nobody else, because in that small village my family were the richest; and it was such a small village--not more than two hundred people in all--and so poor that my grandparents would not allow me to mix with the village children. They were dirty, and of course they were almost beggars. So there was no way to have friends. That caused a great impact. In my whole life I have never been a friend, I have never known anybody to be a friend. Yes, acquaintances I had.
In those first, early years I was so lonely that I started enjoying it; and it is really a joy. So it was not a curse to me, it proved a blessing. I started enjoying it, and I started feeling self-sufficient; I was not dependent on anybody.
I have never been interested in games for the simple reason that from my very childhood there was no way to play, there was nobody to play with. I can still see myself in those earliest years, just sitting.
We had a beautiful spot where our house was, just in front of a lake. Far away for miles, the lake...and it was so beautiful and so silent. Only once in while would you see a line of white cranes flying, or making love calls, and the peace would be disturbed; otherwise, it was almost the right place for meditation. And when they would disturb the peace--a love call from a bird...after his call the peace would deepen, it would become deeper.
The lake was full of lotus flowers, and I would sit for hours so self-content, as if the world did not matter: the lotuses, the white cranes, the silence....
And my grandparents were very aware of one thing, that I enjoyed my aloneness. They had continuously been seeing that I had no desire to go to the village to meet anybody, or to talk with anybody. Even if they wanted to talk my answers were yes, or no; I was not interested in talking either. So they became aware of one thing, that I enjoyed my aloneness, and it was their sacred duty not to disturb me.
So for seven years continuously nobody tried to corrupt my innocence; there was nobody. Those three old people who lived in the house, the servant and my grandparents, were all protective in every possible way that nobody should disturb me. In fact I started feeling, as I grew up, a little embarrassed that because of me they could not talk, they could not be normal as everybody is. It was just the opposite situation....
It happens with children that you tell them, "Be silent because your father is thinking, your grandfather is resting. Be quiet, sit silently." In my childhood it happened the opposite way. Now I cannot answer why and how; it simply happened. That's why I said it simply happened--the credit does not go to me.
All those three old people were continuously making signs to each other: "Don't disturb him--he is enjoying so much." And they started loving my silence.
Silence has its vibe; it is infectious, particularly a child's silence which is not forced, which is not because you are saying, "I will beat you if you create any nuisance or noise." No, that is not silence. That will not create the joyous vibration that I am talking about, when a child is silent on his own, enjoying for no reason; his happiness is uncaused. That creates great ripples all around.
In a better world, every family will learn from children. You are in such a hurry to teach them. Nobody seems to learn from them, and they have much to teach you. And you have nothing to teach them.
Just because you are older and powerful you start making them just like you without ever thinking about what you are, where you have reached, what your status is in the inner world. You are a pauper; and you want the same for your child also?
But nobody thinks; otherwise people would learn from small children. Children bring so much from the other world because they are such fresh arrivals. They still carry the silence of the womb, the silence of the very existence.
So it was just a coincidence that for seven years I remained undisturbed--no one to nag me, to prepare me for the world of business, politics, diplomacy. My grandparents were more interested in leaving me as natural as possible--particularly my grandmother. She is one of the causes--these small things affect all your life patterns--she is one of the causes of my respect for the whole of womanhood.
She was a simple woman, uneducated, but immensely sensitive. She made it clear to my grandfather and the servant: "We all have lived a certain kind of life which has not led us anywhere. We are as empty as ever, and now death is coming close." She insisted, "Let this child be uninfluenced by us. What influence can we...? We can only make him like us, and we are nothing. Give him an opportunity to be himself."
My grandfather--I heard them discussing in the night, thinking that I was asleep--used to say to her, "You are telling me to do this, and I am doing it; but he is somebody else's son, and sooner or later he will have to go to his parents. What will they say?--`You have not taught him any manners, any etiquette, he is absolutely wild.'"
She said, "Don't be worried about that. In this whole world everybody is civilized, has manners, etiquette, but what is the gain? You are very civilized--what have you got out of it? At the most his parents will be angry at us. So what?--let them be angry. They can't harm us, and by that time the child will be strong enough that they cannot change his life course."
I am tremendously grateful to that old woman. My grandfather was again and again worried that sooner or later he was going to be responsible: "They will say, `We left our child with you and you have not taught him anything.'"
My grandmother did not even allow...because there was one man in the village who could at least teach me the beginnings of language, mathematics, a little geography. He was educated to the fourth grade--the lowest four; that is what was called primary education in India. But he was the most educated man in the town.
My grandfather tried hard: "He can come and he can teach him. At least he will know the alphabet, some mathematics, so when he goes to his parents they will not say that we just wasted seven years completely."
But my grandmother said, "Let them do whatsoever they want to do after seven years. For seven years he has to be just his natural self, and we are not going to interfere." And her argument was always, "You know the alphabet, so what? You know mathematics, so what? You have earned a little money; do you want him also to earn a little money and live just like you?"
That was enough to keep that old man silent. What to do? He was in a difficulty because he could not argue, and he knew that he would be held responsible, not she, because my father would ask him, "What have you done?" And actually that would have been the case, but fortunately he died before my father could ask.
But my father continuously was saying, "That old man is responsible, he has spoiled the child." But now I was strong enough, and I made it clear to him: "Before me, never say a single word against my maternal grandfather. He has saved me from being spoiled by you--that is your real anger. But you have other children--spoil them. And at the final stage you will say who IS spoiled."
He had other children, and more and more children went on coming. I used to tease him, "You please bring one child more, make it a dozen. Eleven children? People ask, "How many children?" Eleven does not look right; one dozen is more impressive."
And in later years I used to tell him, "You go on spoiling all your children; I am wild, and I will remain wild."
What you see as innocence is nothing but wildness. What you see as clarity is nothing but wildness. Somehow I remained out of the grip of civilization.
And once I was strong enough.... And that's why people insist, "Take hold of the child as quickly as possible, don't waste time because the earlier you take hold of the child, the easier it is. Once the child becomes strong enough, then to bend him according to your desires will be difficult."
And life has seven-year circles. By the seventh year the child is perfectly strong; now you cannot do anything. Now he knows where to go, what to do. He is capable of arguing. He is capable of seeing what is right and what is wrong. And his clarity will be at the climax when he is seven. If you don't disturb his earlier years, then at the seventh he is so crystal clear about everything that his whole life will be lived without any repentance.
I have lived without any repentance. I have tried to find: Have I done anything wrong, ever? Not that people have been thinking that all that I have done is right, that is not the point: I have never thought anything that I have done was wrong. The whole world may think it was wrong, but to me there is absolute certainty that it was right; it was the right thing to do.
So there is no question of repenting about the past. And when you don't have to repent about the past you are free from it. The past keeps you entangled like an octopus because you go on feeling, "That thing I should not have done," or, "That thing which I was supposed to do and did not do...." All those things go on pulling you backwards.
I don't see anything behind me, no past.
If I say something about my past, it is simply factual memory, it has no psychological involvement. I am telling you as if I am telling you about somebody else. It is just factual; it has nothing to do with my personal involvement. It might have occurred to somebody else, it might have happened to somebody else.
So remember, a factual memory is not enslaving. Psychological memory is, and psychological memory is made up of things that you think, or you have been conditioned to think, were wrong and you did them. Then there is a wound, a psychological wound. dark02
Unusual events while Osho is in his mother’s womb
My mother was just telling me yesterday...that when I was five months old in her womb, a miracle happened.
She was going from my father's house to her father's house; and it was the rainy season. It is customary in India for the first child to be born at the maternal father's home, so although it was the rainy season and very difficult--no roads, and she had to go on a horse--the sooner she went, the better; if she waited longer then it would have become more difficult, so she went with one of her cousin-brothers.
In the middle of the journey was a big river, the Narmada. It was in flood. When they reached the boat, the boatman saw that my mother was pregnant, and he asked my mother's cousin-brother, "What is your relationship?"
He was not aware that he would get into trouble so he simply said, "We are brother and sister."
The boatman refused; he said, "I cannot take you because your sister is pregnant--that means you are not two, you are three."
In India, this is a custom, an old custom--perhaps it started in the days of Krishna--that one should not travel on water, particularly in a boat, with one's sister's son. There is a danger of the boat sinking.
The boatman said, "What guarantee is there that the child in your sister's womb is a girl and not a boy? If he is a boy I don't want to take the risk--because it is not a question only of my life, sixty other people are going in the boat. Either you can come or your sister can come; both I won't take."
On both sides there were hills and jungle, and the boat used to go only one time a day. In the morning it would go--and the river is really vast at that point--and then it would come back by the evening. The next morning it would go again, the same boat. So either my mother had to remain on this side, which was dangerous, or go on that side, which was just as dangerous. So for three days they continued to ask him, beg him, saying that she was pregnant and he should be kind.
He said, "I can't help it--this is not done. If you can give me a guarantee that it is not a boy then I can take you; but how can you give me a guarantee?"
So for three days they had to stay in a temple there. In that temple lived a saint, very famous in those days in that area. Now, around that temple there has arisen a city in the memory of that saint, Saikheda. Saikheda means "the village of the saint." Sai means the saint; he was known as Sai Baba. It is not the same Sai Baba who became world-famous--Sai Baba of Shirdi--but they were contemporaries....
Finally my mother had to ask Sai Baba, "Can you do something? For three days we have been here. I am pregnant and my brother has told the boatman that he is my brother, and he won't take us in the boat. Now, unless you do something, say something to that boatman, we are in a fix. What to do? My brother cannot leave me here alone; I cannot go alone to the other side. On both sides are wild jungles and forests, and for at least twenty-four hours I will have to wait alone."
I never met Sai Baba, but in a way I did meet him; I was five months old. He just touched my mother's belly. My mother said, "What are your doing?"
He said, "I am touching the feet of your child."
The boatman saw this and said, "What are you doing, Baba? You have never touched anybody's feet."
And Baba said, "This is not anybody; and you are a fool--you should take them to the other side. Don't be worried. The soul that is within this womb is capable of saving thousands of people, so don't be worried about your sixty people--take her."
So my mother was saying, "At that time I became aware that I was carrying someone special."
I said, "As far as I understand, Sai Baba was a wise man: he really befooled the boatman! There is no miracle, there is nothing. And boats don't sink just because somebody is traveling with their sister's son. There is no rationality in the idea, it is just absurd. Perhaps sometime accidentally it may have happened and then it became a routine idea."
My own understanding is that because in Krishna's life his mother's brother was told by the astrologers that "one of the children of your sister will kill you," he kept his sister and his brother-in-law in prison. She gave birth to seven children, seven boys, and he killed them all. The eighth was Krishna, and of course when God Himself was born, the locks of the prison opened up, and the guards fell fast asleep, and Krishna's father took him out.
The river Yamuna was the boundary of Kansa's kingdom. Kansa was the person who was killing his sister's sons in the fear that one of the sons was going to kill him. The Yamuna was in flood--and it is one of the biggest rivers in India. The father of Krishna was very much afraid, but somehow the child had to be taken to the other side, to a friend's house whose wife had given birth to a girl so he could exchange them. He could bring the girl back with him because the next morning Kansa would be there asking, "Where is the child?" and planning to kill him. A girl he wouldn't kill--it had to be a boy.
But how to cross this river? There was no boat in the night, but it had to be crossed. But when God can open locks without keys, without anybody opening them--they simply opened up, the doors opened up, the guards fell asleep--God would do something.
So he put the child in a bucket on his head and passed through the river--something like what happened to Moses when the ocean parted. This time it happened in an Indian way. It could not have happened to Moses because that ocean was not Indian, but this river was.
As he entered the river, the river started rising higher. He was very much afraid: what was happening? He was hoping the river would subside, but it started rising. It went to the point where it touched the feet of Krishna, then it receded. This is the Indian way, it cannot happen anywhere else. How can the river miss such a point? When God is born and passing through her, just giving way is not enough, not mannerly.
Since that time there has been this idea that there is a certain antagonism between a person and his sister's son, because Krishna killed Kansa. The river was crossed, it subsided; it favored the child. Since then rivers are angry against maternal uncles--all the rivers of India. And that superstition is carried even today.
I told my mother, "One thing is certain--that Sai Baba must have been a wise man and had some sense of humor." But she wouldn't listen. And it became known in the village what had happened, and to support it, after one month another thing happened which.... In life there are so many coincidences out of which you can make miracles. Once you are bent upon making a miracle then any coincidence can be turned into a miracle.
After one month there was a very great flood, and in front of my mother's house in the rainy season it was almost like a river. There was a lake, and a small road between the lake and the house, but in the rainy season so much water came that the road was completely like a river, and the lake and the road became merged into one. It was almost oceanic; as far as you could see it was all water. And that year perhaps India had the biggest floods ever.
Floods ordinarily happen every year in India, but that year a strange thing was noted, that floods started reversing the rivers' flow of water. The rains were so heavy that the ocean was not able to take the water as quickly as it was coming, so the water at the ocean front was stuck; it started flowing backwards. Where small rivers fall into big rivers, the big rivers refused to take the water, because they were not able even to contain their own water. The small rivers started moving backwards.
I have never seen it--that one also I missed--but my mother says that it was a strange phenomenon to see the water moving backwards. And it started entering houses; it entered my mother's house. It was a double-storied house, and the first story was completely full of water. Then it started entering the second story. Now, there was nowhere to go, so they were all sitting on the beds, the highest place that was possible there. But my mother said, "If Sai Baba was right, then something will happen." And it must have been a coincidence that the water came up to my mother's stomach and then receded!
These two miracles happened before I was born, so I have nothing to do with them. But they became known; when I was born I was almost a saint in the village! Everybody was so respectful; people were touching my feet, even old people. I was told later on that "the whole village has accepted you as a saint." misery14
She was going from my father's house to her father's house; and it was the rainy season. It is customary in India for the first child to be born at the maternal father's home, so although it was the rainy season and very difficult--no roads, and she had to go on a horse--the sooner she went, the better; if she waited longer then it would have become more difficult, so she went with one of her cousin-brothers.
In the middle of the journey was a big river, the Narmada. It was in flood. When they reached the boat, the boatman saw that my mother was pregnant, and he asked my mother's cousin-brother, "What is your relationship?"
He was not aware that he would get into trouble so he simply said, "We are brother and sister."
The boatman refused; he said, "I cannot take you because your sister is pregnant--that means you are not two, you are three."
In India, this is a custom, an old custom--perhaps it started in the days of Krishna--that one should not travel on water, particularly in a boat, with one's sister's son. There is a danger of the boat sinking.
The boatman said, "What guarantee is there that the child in your sister's womb is a girl and not a boy? If he is a boy I don't want to take the risk--because it is not a question only of my life, sixty other people are going in the boat. Either you can come or your sister can come; both I won't take."
On both sides there were hills and jungle, and the boat used to go only one time a day. In the morning it would go--and the river is really vast at that point--and then it would come back by the evening. The next morning it would go again, the same boat. So either my mother had to remain on this side, which was dangerous, or go on that side, which was just as dangerous. So for three days they continued to ask him, beg him, saying that she was pregnant and he should be kind.
He said, "I can't help it--this is not done. If you can give me a guarantee that it is not a boy then I can take you; but how can you give me a guarantee?"
So for three days they had to stay in a temple there. In that temple lived a saint, very famous in those days in that area. Now, around that temple there has arisen a city in the memory of that saint, Saikheda. Saikheda means "the village of the saint." Sai means the saint; he was known as Sai Baba. It is not the same Sai Baba who became world-famous--Sai Baba of Shirdi--but they were contemporaries....
Finally my mother had to ask Sai Baba, "Can you do something? For three days we have been here. I am pregnant and my brother has told the boatman that he is my brother, and he won't take us in the boat. Now, unless you do something, say something to that boatman, we are in a fix. What to do? My brother cannot leave me here alone; I cannot go alone to the other side. On both sides are wild jungles and forests, and for at least twenty-four hours I will have to wait alone."
I never met Sai Baba, but in a way I did meet him; I was five months old. He just touched my mother's belly. My mother said, "What are your doing?"
He said, "I am touching the feet of your child."
The boatman saw this and said, "What are you doing, Baba? You have never touched anybody's feet."
And Baba said, "This is not anybody; and you are a fool--you should take them to the other side. Don't be worried. The soul that is within this womb is capable of saving thousands of people, so don't be worried about your sixty people--take her."
So my mother was saying, "At that time I became aware that I was carrying someone special."
I said, "As far as I understand, Sai Baba was a wise man: he really befooled the boatman! There is no miracle, there is nothing. And boats don't sink just because somebody is traveling with their sister's son. There is no rationality in the idea, it is just absurd. Perhaps sometime accidentally it may have happened and then it became a routine idea."
My own understanding is that because in Krishna's life his mother's brother was told by the astrologers that "one of the children of your sister will kill you," he kept his sister and his brother-in-law in prison. She gave birth to seven children, seven boys, and he killed them all. The eighth was Krishna, and of course when God Himself was born, the locks of the prison opened up, and the guards fell fast asleep, and Krishna's father took him out.
The river Yamuna was the boundary of Kansa's kingdom. Kansa was the person who was killing his sister's sons in the fear that one of the sons was going to kill him. The Yamuna was in flood--and it is one of the biggest rivers in India. The father of Krishna was very much afraid, but somehow the child had to be taken to the other side, to a friend's house whose wife had given birth to a girl so he could exchange them. He could bring the girl back with him because the next morning Kansa would be there asking, "Where is the child?" and planning to kill him. A girl he wouldn't kill--it had to be a boy.
But how to cross this river? There was no boat in the night, but it had to be crossed. But when God can open locks without keys, without anybody opening them--they simply opened up, the doors opened up, the guards fell asleep--God would do something.
So he put the child in a bucket on his head and passed through the river--something like what happened to Moses when the ocean parted. This time it happened in an Indian way. It could not have happened to Moses because that ocean was not Indian, but this river was.
As he entered the river, the river started rising higher. He was very much afraid: what was happening? He was hoping the river would subside, but it started rising. It went to the point where it touched the feet of Krishna, then it receded. This is the Indian way, it cannot happen anywhere else. How can the river miss such a point? When God is born and passing through her, just giving way is not enough, not mannerly.
Since that time there has been this idea that there is a certain antagonism between a person and his sister's son, because Krishna killed Kansa. The river was crossed, it subsided; it favored the child. Since then rivers are angry against maternal uncles--all the rivers of India. And that superstition is carried even today.
I told my mother, "One thing is certain--that Sai Baba must have been a wise man and had some sense of humor." But she wouldn't listen. And it became known in the village what had happened, and to support it, after one month another thing happened which.... In life there are so many coincidences out of which you can make miracles. Once you are bent upon making a miracle then any coincidence can be turned into a miracle.
After one month there was a very great flood, and in front of my mother's house in the rainy season it was almost like a river. There was a lake, and a small road between the lake and the house, but in the rainy season so much water came that the road was completely like a river, and the lake and the road became merged into one. It was almost oceanic; as far as you could see it was all water. And that year perhaps India had the biggest floods ever.
Floods ordinarily happen every year in India, but that year a strange thing was noted, that floods started reversing the rivers' flow of water. The rains were so heavy that the ocean was not able to take the water as quickly as it was coming, so the water at the ocean front was stuck; it started flowing backwards. Where small rivers fall into big rivers, the big rivers refused to take the water, because they were not able even to contain their own water. The small rivers started moving backwards.
I have never seen it--that one also I missed--but my mother says that it was a strange phenomenon to see the water moving backwards. And it started entering houses; it entered my mother's house. It was a double-storied house, and the first story was completely full of water. Then it started entering the second story. Now, there was nowhere to go, so they were all sitting on the beds, the highest place that was possible there. But my mother said, "If Sai Baba was right, then something will happen." And it must have been a coincidence that the water came up to my mother's stomach and then receded!
These two miracles happened before I was born, so I have nothing to do with them. But they became known; when I was born I was almost a saint in the village! Everybody was so respectful; people were touching my feet, even old people. I was told later on that "the whole village has accepted you as a saint." misery14
Osho’s Parents’ Marriage
Hajji Baba of Pakistan, who is now* nearly one hundred and ten years old, was present at my father's marriage and he had come with the marriage party to my mother's place. It created a great stir in the whole Jaina community, because it is a tradition that when the bridegroom comes to the house of the bride they have to be received on the boundary of the town, and the chief of the family has to be garlanded. A turban, a very valuable turban, has to be put on his head, beautiful shoes made of velvet have to be put on his feet and he is given a robe, specially made for him.
My (paternal) grandfather said, "Hajji Baba is the chief of our family." Now, a Mohammedan, chief of the family of a Jaina...my mother's father was at a loss--what to do? Hajji Baba was saying, "Don't do this." But my grandfather was never able to listen to anybody. He said, "It doesn't matter. Even if we have to go back, we will go back, but you are my family's chief I have always been like your younger brother, and how can I be received when you are here?"
There was no other way; my mother's father had to receive Hajji Baba as the chief of the family. misery05
*Note: 1985
In the past there were children married before they were ten. Sometimes children were even married when they were still in their mother's womb. Just two friends will decide that, "As our wives are pregnant, if one gives birth to a boy and the other gives birth to a girl, then the marriage is settled, promised." The question of asking the boy and the girl does not arise at all. They are not even born yet. They are not even certain yet whether both may be girls, both may be boys. But if one is a boy and another is a girl, the marriage is settled. And people kept their word, their promises.
My own mother was married when she was seven years old. And her parents had to tie her to a pillar inside the house when the marriage party was coming* and there were many fireworks. And at the reception there was music and dance. And everybody was out of the house, and my mother reminds me still that, "I could not understand why only I was left inside the house and tied! They wouldn't let me go out." She had no understanding what marriage was. She wanted to see, like any child, everything beautiful that was happening outside--the whole village had gathered, and she was crying.
My father was not more than ten years old, and he had no understanding of what was happening. I used to ask him, "What was the most significant thing that you enjoyed in your wedding?"
He said, "Riding on the horse." Naturally, for the first time he was dressed like a king, with a knife hanging by his side, and he was sitting on the horse, and everybody was walking around. He enjoyed it tremendously. That was the most important thing that he enjoyed in his wedding.
A honeymoon was out of the question. Where will you send a ten-year-old boy and a seven-year-old girl for a honeymoon? So in India the honeymoon never used to exist, and in the past, nowhere else in the world either.
And when my father was ten years old and my mother was seven years old, my father's mother died. After the marriage, perhaps one or two years afterwards, the whole responsibility fell on my mother, who was only nine years old. Two small daughters my father's mother had left, and two small boys. So four children, and the responsibility on a nine-year-old girl and a twelve-year-old son.
My (paternal) grandfather never liked to live in the city where he had his shop. He loved the countryside. He had his own beautiful horse. And when his wife died he was absolutely free. You will not believe it, but in his time--and it is not long ago--the government used to give land to people for free. Because there was so much land, and there were not so many people to cultivate it.
So my grandfather got fifty acres of land free from the government. And he loved living sixteen miles away from the city where he had left the whole shop in the hands of his children--my father and mother--who were only twelve and nine years old. And he enjoyed creating a garden, creating a farm, and he loved to live there in the open air. He hated the city.
Now how can you think that there could be a generation gap? My father never had any experience of the freedom of young people of today. He never became young in that way. Before he could have become young, he was already old, taking care of his younger brothers and sisters and the shop. And by the time he was twenty he had to arrange marriages for his sisters, marriages and education for his brothers.
I have never called my mother, "Mother," because before I was born she was taking care of four children who used to call her Bhabhi. Bhabhi means `brother's wife'. And because four children were already calling my mother bhabhi, I also started calling her bhabhi. Even today I call her bhabhi, but she is my mother, not my brother's wife. And they have tried hard to make me change, but it comes so natural to me to call her bhabhi. All my brothers and sisters call her mother. Only I am crazy enough to call her bhabhi. But I learned it from the very beginning, when four other children...
And then I had a rapport with my uncles and with my father's sisters, a friendliness. They were a little older than me, but there was not much distance. I never thought of respect. They never thought of respect to be received. They loved me, I loved them.
It was a totally different world just seventy years ago. Generations were overlapping, and there used to be no youth. Now youth has come into existence and it will be growing bigger, because as machines are going to take more and more jobs in the factories, in the offices, what are you going to do with people? They cannot be left doing nothing, otherwise they will do something absurd, something irrational, something insane. They will go mad. So you have to extend the period of their education. chit15
*Note: Osho's mother was restrained because it was the custom that the bridal couple not see each other before the wedding ceremony
My diabetes is my inheritance. My great-grandfather had it, my grandfather had it, my father had it, I have it, all my uncles have it, all my brothers have it. It seems to be something intrinsic, so it cannot be cured; it can only be kept in control. last317
My (paternal) grandfather said, "Hajji Baba is the chief of our family." Now, a Mohammedan, chief of the family of a Jaina...my mother's father was at a loss--what to do? Hajji Baba was saying, "Don't do this." But my grandfather was never able to listen to anybody. He said, "It doesn't matter. Even if we have to go back, we will go back, but you are my family's chief I have always been like your younger brother, and how can I be received when you are here?"
There was no other way; my mother's father had to receive Hajji Baba as the chief of the family. misery05
*Note: 1985
In the past there were children married before they were ten. Sometimes children were even married when they were still in their mother's womb. Just two friends will decide that, "As our wives are pregnant, if one gives birth to a boy and the other gives birth to a girl, then the marriage is settled, promised." The question of asking the boy and the girl does not arise at all. They are not even born yet. They are not even certain yet whether both may be girls, both may be boys. But if one is a boy and another is a girl, the marriage is settled. And people kept their word, their promises.
My own mother was married when she was seven years old. And her parents had to tie her to a pillar inside the house when the marriage party was coming* and there were many fireworks. And at the reception there was music and dance. And everybody was out of the house, and my mother reminds me still that, "I could not understand why only I was left inside the house and tied! They wouldn't let me go out." She had no understanding what marriage was. She wanted to see, like any child, everything beautiful that was happening outside--the whole village had gathered, and she was crying.
My father was not more than ten years old, and he had no understanding of what was happening. I used to ask him, "What was the most significant thing that you enjoyed in your wedding?"
He said, "Riding on the horse." Naturally, for the first time he was dressed like a king, with a knife hanging by his side, and he was sitting on the horse, and everybody was walking around. He enjoyed it tremendously. That was the most important thing that he enjoyed in his wedding.
A honeymoon was out of the question. Where will you send a ten-year-old boy and a seven-year-old girl for a honeymoon? So in India the honeymoon never used to exist, and in the past, nowhere else in the world either.
And when my father was ten years old and my mother was seven years old, my father's mother died. After the marriage, perhaps one or two years afterwards, the whole responsibility fell on my mother, who was only nine years old. Two small daughters my father's mother had left, and two small boys. So four children, and the responsibility on a nine-year-old girl and a twelve-year-old son.
My (paternal) grandfather never liked to live in the city where he had his shop. He loved the countryside. He had his own beautiful horse. And when his wife died he was absolutely free. You will not believe it, but in his time--and it is not long ago--the government used to give land to people for free. Because there was so much land, and there were not so many people to cultivate it.
So my grandfather got fifty acres of land free from the government. And he loved living sixteen miles away from the city where he had left the whole shop in the hands of his children--my father and mother--who were only twelve and nine years old. And he enjoyed creating a garden, creating a farm, and he loved to live there in the open air. He hated the city.
Now how can you think that there could be a generation gap? My father never had any experience of the freedom of young people of today. He never became young in that way. Before he could have become young, he was already old, taking care of his younger brothers and sisters and the shop. And by the time he was twenty he had to arrange marriages for his sisters, marriages and education for his brothers.
I have never called my mother, "Mother," because before I was born she was taking care of four children who used to call her Bhabhi. Bhabhi means `brother's wife'. And because four children were already calling my mother bhabhi, I also started calling her bhabhi. Even today I call her bhabhi, but she is my mother, not my brother's wife. And they have tried hard to make me change, but it comes so natural to me to call her bhabhi. All my brothers and sisters call her mother. Only I am crazy enough to call her bhabhi. But I learned it from the very beginning, when four other children...
And then I had a rapport with my uncles and with my father's sisters, a friendliness. They were a little older than me, but there was not much distance. I never thought of respect. They never thought of respect to be received. They loved me, I loved them.
It was a totally different world just seventy years ago. Generations were overlapping, and there used to be no youth. Now youth has come into existence and it will be growing bigger, because as machines are going to take more and more jobs in the factories, in the offices, what are you going to do with people? They cannot be left doing nothing, otherwise they will do something absurd, something irrational, something insane. They will go mad. So you have to extend the period of their education. chit15
*Note: Osho's mother was restrained because it was the custom that the bridal couple not see each other before the wedding ceremony
My diabetes is my inheritance. My great-grandfather had it, my grandfather had it, my father had it, I have it, all my uncles have it, all my brothers have it. It seems to be something intrinsic, so it cannot be cured; it can only be kept in control. last317
Osho's Past Lives
The moment the child is born, you think, is the beginning of its life.
That is not true.
The moment an old man dies, you think, is the end of his life.
It is not.
Life is far bigger than birth and death.
Birth and death are not two ends of life; many births and many deaths happen within life. Life itself has no beginning, no end: life and eternity are equivalent....
Life begins at the point of your past life's death. When you die, on the one side one chapter of life, which people think was your whole life, is closed. It was only a chapter in a book which has infinite chapters. One chapter closes, but the book is not closed. Just turn the page and another chapter begins.
The person dying starts visualizing his next life. This is a known fact, because it happens before the chapter closes....
Buddha has a word for it, he calls it tanha. Literally it means desire, but metaphorically it means the whole life of desire. All these things happened: frustrations, fulfillments, disappointments, successes, failures...but all this happened within a certain area you can call desire.
The dying man has to see the whole of it before he moves on further, just to recollect it, because the body is going: this mind is not going to be with him, this brain is not going to be with him. But the desire released from this mind will cling to his soul, and this desire will decide his future life. Whatever has remained unfulfilled, he will move towards that target.
Your life begins far back before your birth, before your mother's impregnation, further back in your past life's end. That end is the beginning of this life. One chapter closes, another chapter opens. Now, how this new life will be is ninety-nine percent determined by the last moment of your death. What you collected, what you have brought with you like a seed--that seed will become a tree, bring fruits, bring flowers, or whatever happens to it. You cannot read it in the seed, but the seed has the whole blueprint....
If a man dies fully alert, seeing the whole terrain that he has passed and seeing the whole stupidity of it, he is born with a sharpness, with an intelligence, with a courage--automatically. It is not something he does. misery09
There are six great religions in the world. They can be divided into two categories: one consists of Judaism, Christianity and Islam. They believe in only one life. You are just between birth and death, there is nothing beyond birth and death--life is all. Although they believe in heaven and hell and God, they are the earnings from one life, a single life. The other category consists of Hinduism, Jainism and Buddhism. They believe in the theory of reincarnation. One is born again and again, eternally--unless one becomes enlightened, and then the wheel stops. glimpse16
I have meditated; I have come to a point where I can see my own past lives, and that's proof enough. It is my knowing, my experiencing; it is nothing to do with Indian heritage, beliefs, or anything. I speak on my own authority. last112
I began as an intellectual--not only in this life but in many lives. My whole work in many lives has been concerned with the intellect--refining the intellect, sharpening the intellect. inzen08
I have known so many esoteric groups--in this life and before. I have been in contact with many esoteric groups, but I cannot tell you their whereabouts. I cannot tell you their names, because that is not permitted. And it is of no use really. But I can tell you that they still exist, they still try to help....gate08
I knew Bodhidharma* personally. I traveled with the man for at least three months. He loved me just as I loved him. You will be curious to know why he loved me. He loved me because I never asked him any question. He said to me, "You are the first person I have met who does not ask a question--and I only get bored with all the questions. You are the only person who does not bore me."
I said, "There is a reason."
He said, "What is that?"
I said, "I only answer. I never question. If you have any question you can ask me. If you don't have a question then keep your mouth shut."
We both laughed, because we both belonged to the same category of insanity. He asked me to continue the journey with him, but I said, "Excuse me, I have to go my own way, and from this point it separates from yours."
He could not believe it. He had never invited anyone before. This was the man who had even refused Emperor Wu--the greatest emperor of those days, with the greatest empire--as if he was a beggar. Bodhidharma could not believe his eyes, that I could refuse him.
I said, "Now you know how it feels to be refused. I wanted to give you a taste of it. Goodbye." But that was fourteen centuries ago. glimps06
*Note: Bodhidharma: the mystic who brought Buddhism from India to China
Some days ago Lama Karmapa had said something about me...* Karmapa had said that my one body from some past birth is preserved in a cave in Tibet. Ninety-nine bodies are preserved there, among them one body is mine, that was said by Karmapa.
In Tibet they have tried for thousands of years to preserve the bodies in which some extraordinary things happened. They have preserved such bodies as an experimentation. Because such events do not happen again and again, and do not happen so easily. After thousands of years, once in a while such things happen. For instance, someone's third eye opened and along with it, it broke a hole in the bone where the third eye exists. Such an event takes place sometimes once in hundreds of thousands of years. The third eye opens in so many people but this hole does not happen to everybody. When this hole happens, the reason behind it is that in that case the third eye has opened with tremendous force. Such skulls or such a body is then preserved by them.
For instance, someone's sex energy, the basic energy, arose with such force that it broke a hole in the crown of his head and merges into the cosmos. Such a thing happens only once in a while. Many people merge into the universal reality, but the energy filters through so slowly, and with such intervals, that the energy simply seeps in small measures, and a hole is not created. Once in a while, it happens with such sudden intensity that, breaking the skull, the entire energy merges into the cosmos. So they preserve that body. This way, until now they have done the greatest experiment in the history of mankind. They have preserved ninety-nine bodies. So Karmapa had said that among those ninety-nine bodies a body of mine is also preserved....
It is the ninety-seventh body, but if it is counted from the opposite side, it can be the third one. samadh12
*Note: Swami Govind Siddharth, one of Osho's disciples, reported that on 6 June 1972 Karmapa told him, "Osho is the greatest incarnation since Buddha in India, and is a living Buddha!" and "Now in this life, Osho has taken birth specially in order to help people spiritually--only for this purpose. He has taken birth fully consciously."
Karmapa was very excited and indicated a close association with Osho in past life. Osho's last birth is said to have occurred about 700 years ago. Karmapa was referring "to one birth before that". Osho was one of their great incarnations two births ago. "If you want to see one of Osho's past incarnations, you can go to Tibet and see his golden statue there which is preserved in the Hall of Incarnations." Asked of whom Osho is an incarnation, he replied, "Now, that is a secret. Unless someone is the head of one of our monasteries, we do not disclose whose incarnation he is."
"My blessings are always there, and I know that whatever we Tibetans are not going to be able to do to help others, Osho will do. "Osho is the only person able to do this, he took birth in India specially. You are very very fortunate to have him. He is the only divine incarnation living today who will be a world teacher." And "The world will know him but only a few people will realize what he actually is. He will be the only person who can guide properly, and can be a world teacher in this age, and he has taken birth only for this purpose."
You ask me: Please would you say something about your last life, and if you were born in Your present life fully realized.
My previous birth took place about seven hundred years ago....
It can be said that I was born with nearabout full knowledge. I say nearabout only because some steps have been left out deliberately, and deliberately that can be done.
In this connection, the Jaina thinking is very scientific.* They have divided knowledge into fourteen steps. Thirteen steps are in this world and the fourteenth is in the beyond....
After a certain stage of development, for example, after the attainment of twelve steps, the length of time that it takes to achieve the remaining steps can be stretched out. They can be attained either in one birth, two births or in three births. Great use can be made of postponement.
After the attainment of full realization there is no further possibility of taking birth more than one time more. Such an enlightened one is not likely to cooperate or be helpful for more than one additional birth. But after reaching twelve steps, if two can be set aside, then such a person can be useful for many births more. And the possibility is there to set them aside.
On reaching the twelfth step, the journey has nearabout come to an end. I say nearabout: that means that all walls have collapsed; only a transparent curtain remains through which everything can be seen. However the curtain is there. After lifting it, there is no difficulty in going beyond. After going beyond the curtain, whatsoever you are ordinarily able to see can be seen from the other side of the curtain also. There is no difference at all.
So this is why I say nearabout: by taking one step more, one can go beyond the curtain. But then there is a possibility of only one more birth, while if one remains on this side of the curtain one can take as many births as one wants. After crossing into the beyond, there is no way of coming back more than once to this side of the curtain....
Seven hundred years ago, in my previous life, there was a spiritual practice of twenty-one days, to be done before death. I was to give up my body after a total fast of twenty-one days. There were reasons for this, but I could not complete those twenty-one days. Three days remained. Those three days I had to complete in this life. This life is a continuation from there. The intervening period does not have any meaning in this respect. When only three days remained in that life, I was killed. Twenty-one days could not be completed because I was killed just three days before, and those three days were omitted....
The person who killed me had no enmity with me, though he was taken to be and was treated as, an enemy. That killing became valuable....
Now I can take still another birth. There is now a possibility of one more birth. But that will depend on whether I feel that it will be useful. During this whole life I shall go on striving to see whether one more birth will be of some use. Then it is worthwhile taking birth; otherwise the matter is over and it is no use making any more effort. So that killing was valuable and useful....
In the last moments of my previous life, the remaining work could have been done in only three days because time was very compact. My age was one hundred and six years. Time was moving very fast. The story of those three days continued in my childhood of this birth. In my previous life it was at its end, but to finish that work here in this life took twenty-one years.
Many a time, if the opportunity is missed, it may be necessary to spend as many as seven years for every single day. So in this life I did not come with full realization, but came with nearabout full realization.... known02
*Note: known02 and known03 explain in detail Jaina and Buddhist understanding of past lives in relation to enlightened masters. It is too complex to include here.
What little I have told you about my previous life is not because it has any value or that you may know something about me. I have told you this only because it may make you reflect about yourselves and set you in search of your past lives. The moment you know your past lives, there will be a spiritual revolution and evolution. Then you will start from where you had left off in your last life; otherwise you will get lost in endless lives and reach nowhere. There will only be a repetition.
There has to be a link, a communication, between this life and the previous one. Whatsoever you had achieved in your previous life should come to be known, and you should have the capacity to take the next step forwards....
Nowadays the difficulty is this: it is not very difficult to make you remember your previous births, but the thing called courage has been lost. It is possible to make you remember your previous births only if you have achieved the capacity to remain undisturbed in the midst of the very difficult memories of this life. Otherwise it is not possible....
When no memory of this life can be a cause of anxiety to you, only then can you be led into the memories of past lives. Otherwise those memories may become great traumas for you, and the door to such traumas cannot be opened unless you have the capacity and worthiness to face them. known02
Do you hear me? Do you see me? I stand at the door and knock, and I knock because of a promise made in another life and another age. teacup06
This was my assurance given to many friends in the previous life: that when truth is attained, I will inform them. letter03
That is not true.
The moment an old man dies, you think, is the end of his life.
It is not.
Life is far bigger than birth and death.
Birth and death are not two ends of life; many births and many deaths happen within life. Life itself has no beginning, no end: life and eternity are equivalent....
Life begins at the point of your past life's death. When you die, on the one side one chapter of life, which people think was your whole life, is closed. It was only a chapter in a book which has infinite chapters. One chapter closes, but the book is not closed. Just turn the page and another chapter begins.
The person dying starts visualizing his next life. This is a known fact, because it happens before the chapter closes....
Buddha has a word for it, he calls it tanha. Literally it means desire, but metaphorically it means the whole life of desire. All these things happened: frustrations, fulfillments, disappointments, successes, failures...but all this happened within a certain area you can call desire.
The dying man has to see the whole of it before he moves on further, just to recollect it, because the body is going: this mind is not going to be with him, this brain is not going to be with him. But the desire released from this mind will cling to his soul, and this desire will decide his future life. Whatever has remained unfulfilled, he will move towards that target.
Your life begins far back before your birth, before your mother's impregnation, further back in your past life's end. That end is the beginning of this life. One chapter closes, another chapter opens. Now, how this new life will be is ninety-nine percent determined by the last moment of your death. What you collected, what you have brought with you like a seed--that seed will become a tree, bring fruits, bring flowers, or whatever happens to it. You cannot read it in the seed, but the seed has the whole blueprint....
If a man dies fully alert, seeing the whole terrain that he has passed and seeing the whole stupidity of it, he is born with a sharpness, with an intelligence, with a courage--automatically. It is not something he does. misery09
There are six great religions in the world. They can be divided into two categories: one consists of Judaism, Christianity and Islam. They believe in only one life. You are just between birth and death, there is nothing beyond birth and death--life is all. Although they believe in heaven and hell and God, they are the earnings from one life, a single life. The other category consists of Hinduism, Jainism and Buddhism. They believe in the theory of reincarnation. One is born again and again, eternally--unless one becomes enlightened, and then the wheel stops. glimpse16
I have meditated; I have come to a point where I can see my own past lives, and that's proof enough. It is my knowing, my experiencing; it is nothing to do with Indian heritage, beliefs, or anything. I speak on my own authority. last112
I began as an intellectual--not only in this life but in many lives. My whole work in many lives has been concerned with the intellect--refining the intellect, sharpening the intellect. inzen08
I have known so many esoteric groups--in this life and before. I have been in contact with many esoteric groups, but I cannot tell you their whereabouts. I cannot tell you their names, because that is not permitted. And it is of no use really. But I can tell you that they still exist, they still try to help....gate08
I knew Bodhidharma* personally. I traveled with the man for at least three months. He loved me just as I loved him. You will be curious to know why he loved me. He loved me because I never asked him any question. He said to me, "You are the first person I have met who does not ask a question--and I only get bored with all the questions. You are the only person who does not bore me."
I said, "There is a reason."
He said, "What is that?"
I said, "I only answer. I never question. If you have any question you can ask me. If you don't have a question then keep your mouth shut."
We both laughed, because we both belonged to the same category of insanity. He asked me to continue the journey with him, but I said, "Excuse me, I have to go my own way, and from this point it separates from yours."
He could not believe it. He had never invited anyone before. This was the man who had even refused Emperor Wu--the greatest emperor of those days, with the greatest empire--as if he was a beggar. Bodhidharma could not believe his eyes, that I could refuse him.
I said, "Now you know how it feels to be refused. I wanted to give you a taste of it. Goodbye." But that was fourteen centuries ago. glimps06
*Note: Bodhidharma: the mystic who brought Buddhism from India to China
Some days ago Lama Karmapa had said something about me...* Karmapa had said that my one body from some past birth is preserved in a cave in Tibet. Ninety-nine bodies are preserved there, among them one body is mine, that was said by Karmapa.
In Tibet they have tried for thousands of years to preserve the bodies in which some extraordinary things happened. They have preserved such bodies as an experimentation. Because such events do not happen again and again, and do not happen so easily. After thousands of years, once in a while such things happen. For instance, someone's third eye opened and along with it, it broke a hole in the bone where the third eye exists. Such an event takes place sometimes once in hundreds of thousands of years. The third eye opens in so many people but this hole does not happen to everybody. When this hole happens, the reason behind it is that in that case the third eye has opened with tremendous force. Such skulls or such a body is then preserved by them.
For instance, someone's sex energy, the basic energy, arose with such force that it broke a hole in the crown of his head and merges into the cosmos. Such a thing happens only once in a while. Many people merge into the universal reality, but the energy filters through so slowly, and with such intervals, that the energy simply seeps in small measures, and a hole is not created. Once in a while, it happens with such sudden intensity that, breaking the skull, the entire energy merges into the cosmos. So they preserve that body. This way, until now they have done the greatest experiment in the history of mankind. They have preserved ninety-nine bodies. So Karmapa had said that among those ninety-nine bodies a body of mine is also preserved....
It is the ninety-seventh body, but if it is counted from the opposite side, it can be the third one. samadh12
*Note: Swami Govind Siddharth, one of Osho's disciples, reported that on 6 June 1972 Karmapa told him, "Osho is the greatest incarnation since Buddha in India, and is a living Buddha!" and "Now in this life, Osho has taken birth specially in order to help people spiritually--only for this purpose. He has taken birth fully consciously."
Karmapa was very excited and indicated a close association with Osho in past life. Osho's last birth is said to have occurred about 700 years ago. Karmapa was referring "to one birth before that". Osho was one of their great incarnations two births ago. "If you want to see one of Osho's past incarnations, you can go to Tibet and see his golden statue there which is preserved in the Hall of Incarnations." Asked of whom Osho is an incarnation, he replied, "Now, that is a secret. Unless someone is the head of one of our monasteries, we do not disclose whose incarnation he is."
"My blessings are always there, and I know that whatever we Tibetans are not going to be able to do to help others, Osho will do. "Osho is the only person able to do this, he took birth in India specially. You are very very fortunate to have him. He is the only divine incarnation living today who will be a world teacher." And "The world will know him but only a few people will realize what he actually is. He will be the only person who can guide properly, and can be a world teacher in this age, and he has taken birth only for this purpose."
You ask me: Please would you say something about your last life, and if you were born in Your present life fully realized.
My previous birth took place about seven hundred years ago....
It can be said that I was born with nearabout full knowledge. I say nearabout only because some steps have been left out deliberately, and deliberately that can be done.
In this connection, the Jaina thinking is very scientific.* They have divided knowledge into fourteen steps. Thirteen steps are in this world and the fourteenth is in the beyond....
After a certain stage of development, for example, after the attainment of twelve steps, the length of time that it takes to achieve the remaining steps can be stretched out. They can be attained either in one birth, two births or in three births. Great use can be made of postponement.
After the attainment of full realization there is no further possibility of taking birth more than one time more. Such an enlightened one is not likely to cooperate or be helpful for more than one additional birth. But after reaching twelve steps, if two can be set aside, then such a person can be useful for many births more. And the possibility is there to set them aside.
On reaching the twelfth step, the journey has nearabout come to an end. I say nearabout: that means that all walls have collapsed; only a transparent curtain remains through which everything can be seen. However the curtain is there. After lifting it, there is no difficulty in going beyond. After going beyond the curtain, whatsoever you are ordinarily able to see can be seen from the other side of the curtain also. There is no difference at all.
So this is why I say nearabout: by taking one step more, one can go beyond the curtain. But then there is a possibility of only one more birth, while if one remains on this side of the curtain one can take as many births as one wants. After crossing into the beyond, there is no way of coming back more than once to this side of the curtain....
Seven hundred years ago, in my previous life, there was a spiritual practice of twenty-one days, to be done before death. I was to give up my body after a total fast of twenty-one days. There were reasons for this, but I could not complete those twenty-one days. Three days remained. Those three days I had to complete in this life. This life is a continuation from there. The intervening period does not have any meaning in this respect. When only three days remained in that life, I was killed. Twenty-one days could not be completed because I was killed just three days before, and those three days were omitted....
The person who killed me had no enmity with me, though he was taken to be and was treated as, an enemy. That killing became valuable....
Now I can take still another birth. There is now a possibility of one more birth. But that will depend on whether I feel that it will be useful. During this whole life I shall go on striving to see whether one more birth will be of some use. Then it is worthwhile taking birth; otherwise the matter is over and it is no use making any more effort. So that killing was valuable and useful....
In the last moments of my previous life, the remaining work could have been done in only three days because time was very compact. My age was one hundred and six years. Time was moving very fast. The story of those three days continued in my childhood of this birth. In my previous life it was at its end, but to finish that work here in this life took twenty-one years.
Many a time, if the opportunity is missed, it may be necessary to spend as many as seven years for every single day. So in this life I did not come with full realization, but came with nearabout full realization.... known02
*Note: known02 and known03 explain in detail Jaina and Buddhist understanding of past lives in relation to enlightened masters. It is too complex to include here.
What little I have told you about my previous life is not because it has any value or that you may know something about me. I have told you this only because it may make you reflect about yourselves and set you in search of your past lives. The moment you know your past lives, there will be a spiritual revolution and evolution. Then you will start from where you had left off in your last life; otherwise you will get lost in endless lives and reach nowhere. There will only be a repetition.
There has to be a link, a communication, between this life and the previous one. Whatsoever you had achieved in your previous life should come to be known, and you should have the capacity to take the next step forwards....
Nowadays the difficulty is this: it is not very difficult to make you remember your previous births, but the thing called courage has been lost. It is possible to make you remember your previous births only if you have achieved the capacity to remain undisturbed in the midst of the very difficult memories of this life. Otherwise it is not possible....
When no memory of this life can be a cause of anxiety to you, only then can you be led into the memories of past lives. Otherwise those memories may become great traumas for you, and the door to such traumas cannot be opened unless you have the capacity and worthiness to face them. known02
Do you hear me? Do you see me? I stand at the door and knock, and I knock because of a promise made in another life and another age. teacup06
This was my assurance given to many friends in the previous life: that when truth is attained, I will inform them. letter03
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)