Послания любви. 365 писем Ошо
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54. Love.
Can two people ever meet?
It is just not possible on this earth,
communication seems impossible –
but at times the impossible happens.
The other day it did.
Being with you, I felt meeting is possible,
and also communication,
and without words, too.
Your tears answered me.
I am deeply grateful for those tears.
Such response is very rare.
I have seen your Madhu Shala,
seen it again and again.
If I could sing
I would sing the same song that is there.
I call that sannyas the real sannyas
which accepts the world with joy.
Aren’t sansara and moksha really one?
Duality exists in ignorance,
in knowledge there is only one.
Oh, can that really be religion
which cannot sing and dance the songs of bliss and love?
P.S. I hear you are due to come here.
Come, and come soon.
Who can trust time?
Look – it is morning and the sun rises.
How long will it be before it sets?
55. Love.
I am one with all things –
in beauty, in ugliness,
for whatsoever is, there I am.
Not only in virtue
but in sin too I am a partner;
and not only heaven but hell too is mine.
Buddha, Jesus, Lao Tzu –
it is easy to be their heir.
But Genghis, Taimur and Hitler?
They are also within me!
No, not half – I am the whole of mankind!
Whatsoever is man’s is mine –
flowers and thorns,
darkness as well as light.
And if nectar is mine, whose is poison?
Nectar and poison – both are mine.
Whoever experiences this I call religious,
for only the anguish of such experience
can revolutionize life on earth.
56. Love.
I have received your letter.
I was very glad indeed to get it,
more so since you have sent a blank sheet.
But I have read in it all that you have not written
but wanted to write.
Besides, what can words say?
Even after writing,
what you had meant to write remains unwritten.
So your silent letter is very lovely.
As it is, whenever you come to see me you are mostly silent,
but your eyes tell all, and your silence too.
Some deep thirst has touched you,
some unknown shore has called you.
Whenever God calls he calls this way –
but how long will you go on standing on the shore?
Look! The sun is out
and the winds can’t wait to fill the boat’s sails!
57. Love.
I have received your letters –
but they are not just letters really, they are poems born out of love,
out of love and prayer, for where there is love there is prayer.
So it is possible to get glimpses of God through another
whom one loves –
love providing the eyes that can see God.
Love is the door through which he appears.
So when one loves all he can be seen in all things.
Part and whole in fact are not in opposition:
deep love for even one other finally spreads to all
because love dissolves the self, leaving the no-self.
Love is like the sun, the individual like frozen ice.
Love’s sun melts the icebergs, leaving a limitless ocean.
So the search for love is really the search for God,
because love melts, and also destroys;
because love only melts and only destroys.
It is both birth and death.
In it the self dies and the all is born.
So there is certainly pain –
in the birth as well as in the death.
Love is the deep anguish of birth as well as death.
But the poetry flowering in you shows that you
have begun to experience the joy that lies in love’s anguish.
58. Love.
Your letter has filled my heart with joy.
You are at the threshold of a great revolution;
now, even if you want to run away I will not let you.
You will certainly have to perish in it
so that you can be reborn.
Gold has to pass through fire – only then is it purified.
Love is fire for you, and I pray to God
that your ego burns in it.
Then if love comes, prayer can come too;
without love prayer is not possible.
Remember that body and soul are not two.
The part of the person that can be seen is the body,
the part that cannot be seen is the soul.
The same holds true for God and matter:
God made visible is matter, and what cannot be seen is God.
Take life easily and naturally, just as it comes.
Welcome it in its endless forms with an attitude of complete acceptance.
And do not impose yourself on life;
life has its own discipline, its own wisdom,