enjoys being at darshan, too. Shiva can’t help but feel pleased with his involvement in this entirely new venture, though his new position diminishes the one he has chosen. In the least hurtful way possible, Osho has indicated that Shiva’s energy is better directed into photography than being his guardian.
Over the years, Osho talks occasionally about the difficulties a master encounters in trying to work on his disciples. It is an “unenviable task,” he says once. I begin to see how very fragile are our egos and how tricky the games we play to protect them.
Chapter 3: Alchemy in Action
As far back as one can remember people have gathered around masters just to sit silently. In the East we call it darshan. The West has never understood that seeing—that is the actual meaning of the word ‘darshan’—means being in the energy field of a man who has come to know himself, to drink out of his well, to look into his eyes, to feel his hands, to listen to his silences, to his words. ~ Osho
The following evening is the start of the most creative and exciting period of my life so far. In preparation for recording darshan, we set up a tape recorder and a small mike; Shiva has his camera and I equip myself with book and pen. The substance will of course be Osho’s words. In addition I’d like to include some descriptions of those to whom Osho talks, and of course observations of Osho himself, along with any necessary commentary.
With this slightly new perspective of darshan I feel as if I am attending a play, some existential drama (and sometimes comedy) in which actors are continually changing and the dialogue is spontaneous. The compilation of the diaries becomes my love, almost the sole preoccupation of my every waking hour. Incredibly, the darshan diaries will continue, at the rate of one a month, for over five years, totaling sixty-three books. (This in addition to Osho speaking a book a month in the morning discourses!)
I work fast: by the end of each day, the previous night’s darshan needs to have been transcribed (thanks to “Big Prem”), edited, had descriptions and commentary added, and be ready for its final read-through; otherwise I will never be able to stay abreast of things. Sometimes Osho’s words seem like a gigantic avalanche that constantly pursues me: to pause and glance over my shoulder at it is to waste precious time and risk being obliterated. (Then again: isn’t that exactly why Osho is speaking to us?)
Sometime later a third member joins our tiny team. Savita has been a psychotherapist in London and, like me, adores playing with words. Invariably Big Prem, plugged into her typewriter and earphones all day, bursts into uproarious laughter as she reaches a particularly hilarious exchange in darshan, or stops to exclaim over something that touches her. Savita and I enjoy tossing ideas back and forth; we also begin to interview people who’ve come to darshan and who have interesting stories to tell. All the while I keep playing with new ways of giving expression to these enchanted evenings.
And enchanted they are. I am witness, over these five years, to so many changes—in the ever-increasing number of people arriving to take sannyas; in the faces of people as they take the plunge into meditation and participate in groups; in our daily communal life, my own evolving inner life, and in the format of darshan itself.
I enjoy watching what I privately term Osho’s “wooing” of potential sannyasins. He says he knows “his people,” and if we don’t initially recognize that we are one of them we are, finally, won over by him. It touches and thrills me to see how much of himself he gives to us…to watch unconditional love at work—or “play” as he puts it.
Whenever she is present in darshan, Radha, an Italian sannyasin, is sometimes asked to help with the “energy” aspect—touching third eyes and so on. Later, we two become known as “the sniffers.” Osho is especially sensitive to smells, especially strong perfumes. Stationed either side of the gate that leads into darshan we are responsible for checking that people are clean and completely fragrance-free: no cigarette, onion, or garlic odors, no soap, no shampoo, and absolutely no French perfume. Even many years later people good-naturedly—generally—will remind me that I “turned them away” from darshan at one time or another.
We represent the last barrier to actually being with Osho. The role is certainly a potential “button-pusher.” In fact, the general consensus is that we don’t turn someone away out of consideration for Osho’s well-being but that we randomly reject someone on a whim, as a “device”: that is, to provide them with an opportunity to “look at their stuff”! But I’ve internally writhed my way through too many evenings when some fragrance has clearly caused his discomfort to be lenient.
The two of us must look like a couple of expert wine tasters: positioned either side of the proffered head, simultaneously we bend to smell it. If we both feel it passes muster we nod to each other. But when one of us is unsure we indicate the offending portion of the head, and the other comes to our side to sniff. Maybe there is a slight fragrance? But is the perfume herbal (allowable) rather than artificial (a definite no-no), perhaps? If the smell is mild we suggest a scarf. Some people learn to come prepared with a scarf in case, and, when needed, they hastily wrap it around their head. (You may not look as pretty as you had hoped but hey, if this is the price you must pay for admission…) Perhaps people can be forgiven if they think it is all some extraordinary charade we are performing simply to heighten their pre-darshan excitement.
Osho’s physical proximity to us in these evenings creates a certain intimacy, distinct from when we are several hundred strong in the public discourses. And of course, it’s a chance to have the master focus only on oneself for a precious few moments.
Some attendees want to receive sannyas: Osho gives them a mala and explains the meaning of their names, usually at some length. He might ask how long they will be staying, and then, consulting his list of what is on offer, suggest their participating in some workshops.
Perennial problems, in all sorts of shapes, are brought to him: on meditation, work, health, love, sex, aloneness, and, the universal favorite, relationships. One evening a sannyasin tells Osho that her relationship is beautiful but that her lover is possessive of her. He is aware that he is and is trying to work on it; meanwhile she wonders what her part in this should be.
Osho responds:
Keep him aware, mm? And you remain aware, too.
…A few things have to be understood when you are in a love relationship. One is: never allow possessiveness to settle in it. It tries to. Wherever love happens, possessiveness immediately enters and starts using the possibility of love, starts destroying it. It is the death of love. So the more aware you are, the longer the love can continue—one thing….
The second thing: You should not do something unnecessarily to hurt the feelings of the other. When we love a person we have to be very sensitive about his feelings, too; that which can be avoided should be avoided. Keep alert so that possessiveness does not settle in, but keep alert also that in the name of anti-possessiveness you don’t start destroying the delicacy of it; otherwise that happens immediately, and both are destructive….
Love is such a delicate flower. It is very rarely that it is preserved: it is destroyed, either this way or that. Either possessiveness destroys it—you become an old-fashioned wife and husband—or fooling around destroys it, and you become a modern husband and wife; but both ways it goes down the drain. It has to be protected from both….
Love is always beautiful in the beginning, but that is nothing: it is always so. When love is beautiful in the end, it is really a rare flower, a very rare flower, and then you know exactly what love is… but only in the end you know. Ninety-nine loves die before that ultimate peak is reached.
In the old world there was no love because the marriage was too tight. In the modern world there is no love because in the name of freedom people have become licentious. In the old world love could not grow because the marriage was too much of a legality. In the new world love is not growing because the marriage is almost nil—it is too licentious. License and legality both have to be avoided.
It is a great art to be in love. To fall in love is very easy, to remain in love is very difficult, arduous. Only a few artists of life are capable of remaining in love.
Try