< Previous | Contents | Next >
Chapter 7 - The mysterious one
This pure space is the origin of you and of all. This pure space has never changed, it is always here and now. It knows no time, no space. It fills the whole universe, which is infinite.
Once you have known it, your life changes. IF YOU HOLD SUCH A VIEW ...
Remember, it should not only be a view. If you experience such a space, YOU WILL
THEN BE FREE TO GO OR STAY. Once you have known this space you have known freedom. And then it is up to you to remain in your form, to change the form, or simply to disappear into the infinity of existence.
As far as I know, nobody who has known this space has ever entered into another form.
The enlightened man's life is his last life. Why should he bother to get into another headache?
Why should he get into another imprisonment, which has illness, sickness, oldness, death and thousands of miseries?
It is only the unconscious human being who goes on groping from womb to womb. The conscious one simply leaves this body and becomes part of the sky. There is no need to be confined unless you love to torture yourself. Nobody has done that up to now. Perhaps nobody can do it. Seeing the freedom of infinity, who is going to look back towards a form, a body, with all its suffering, misery, troubles? It is just against nature.
Ni-butsu wrote: ONE WHO RISES,
RISES OF HIMSELF,
ONE WHO FALLS, FALLS FROM HIMSELF.
AUTUMN DEW, SPRING BREEZE -- NOTHING CAN POSSIBLY INTERFERE.
ONE WHO RISES, RISES OF HIMSELF. It is spontaneous. ONE WHO FALLS, FALLS
FROM HIMSELF -- that too is spontaneous. AUTUMN DEW, SPRING BREEZE --
NOTHING CAN POSSIBLY INTERFERE. Your freedom is total. You just have to know your innermost center and from there everything becomes spontaneous. Your love, your joy, your dance, your song -- everything arises on its own, and then it has a beauty. Totally different ... when a poetry arises out of this silent space, it is not your composition.
Ancient poets have not signed their names, ancient sculptors have not signed their names on their statues. Even people who made immensely beautiful things like the Taj Mahal have not left their name. Nobody knows who was the architect. But it must have arisen just like a poetry. It is poetry in marble.
Music has arisen, but it is a totally different kind -- not the kind that you compose. On the contrary, it composes you. Once a man has tasted the meditative space within him, everything that he touches becomes gold; everything that happens around him has a grace and a beauty and a splendor and a majesty. It is a miracle.
Osho - The Miracle 96
< Previous | Contents | Next >