Let Go

There are still people... When Jawaharlal Nehru was the first prime minister of India, there were at least one dozen people all over India who believed they were Jawaharlal Nehru. One person I knew, because he used to live in a nearby town, and I used to go there once in a while to lecture in that town’s college. And there I met him, because he had come to the lecture. And the principal laughingly introduced him to me, ”Here is Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, our prime minister.” And he was dressed exactly like Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru.

I said, ”He looks like Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru.” The man said, ”Looks like? I am!”

And the principal later on told me that this man goes on sending telegrams to government circuit houses that the prime minister is coming on such and such date, so keep the best room for him. He will be staying for two days. And inform all the officials. And many times he has deceived people, because in a small village nobody knows Jawaharlal Nehru directly. They have only seen his pictures, and that man was completely dressed like him. He had the same hairstyle, the same cap, the same baskit, the same Mohammedan-style pajama – everything perfect. And, because of his mind perhaps, his face was also becoming similar to Jawaharlal Nehru. He believed it absolutely, there was no doubt about it. He behaved the way Jawaharlal behaved, he walked the way Jawaharlal walked. But he was never caught because he died in a car accident.

One man, who used to think that he was Jawaharlal Nehru, was in the biggest madhouse in India, in Raibareli. After three years there he finally recognized that he was not Nehru, perhaps because of the torture, or the continuous hammering on his mind, ”You are not.” He became tired, that’s my feeling; and what happened later on proves my feeling right.

Jawaharlal Nehru was going to come to Raibareli for some celebration, and was going to come to the madhouse also, to open a new wing which had been newly constructed for more mad people to be accommodated. So the officers thought now that the man was cured, it would be good to give him a release from Jawaharlal’s own hands.

When Jawaharlal came, they brought the madman. They introduced him, ”This is Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, our prime minister.”

The man looked at Jawaharlal Nehru, and he said, ”Don’t be worried. It will take three years at least. I used to think exactly the same as you think, but these people are such torturers. Finally I had to accept that I am not, although I know I am. In three years’ time you will also accept you are not. Just go in. I am going out, you go in! Don’t be worried, it takes only three years to be cured.”

Jawaharlal could not understand what to do with this man, who was perfectly logical. He used to think he was Jawaharlal, then these people had cured him by torturing him. But deep down he still knew who he was.

It happened in England when Churchill was the prime minister... Because of the second world war, in London after six o’clock there was a very strict curfew. Nobody should be seen outside their houses, otherwise they might be shot.

Churchill used to go for an evening walk. And that day there was such a beautiful sunset... very rare in England, where the sun appears only once in a while. So he went on sitting on a park bench watching the beautiful sunset, and he forgot about the curfew. Suddenly as the sun went down beneath the horizon he realized that he was late. It was already past the time when he should have been inside the house, which was still at least a mile away. And the strict orders, his orders, were that everybody had to be in their house after six o’clock. He would be shot. He looked to see where he could enter – anybody would give him shelter knowing that he was Winston Churchill, our prime minister, our savior.

So he knocked on the first house, which happened to be a madhouse. A man opened the door, and Churchill said, ”I am sorry to disturb you. I am Winston Churchill, you must know about me, I am the prime minister of England.” The man simply grabbed him. Churchill said, ”What are you doing?”

The man said, ”Shut up! There are already six Winston Churchills here. Come in!”

He said, ”I tell you, I am REALLY Winston Churchill.”

He said, ”Don’t say anything, they all say the same thing. I am putting you with the others. You will know who is real.”

There was no way to go out. There was the danger of being shot dead, it was better to rest in this madhouse. But he was put with those six fat guys, smoking the same kind of cigar as you always saw Churchill smoking. And when the seventh Churchill entered, they all waved to him – (TO THE ACCOMPANIMENT OF DELIGHTED LAUGHTER, THE MASTER RAISES HIS RIGHT ARM WITH TWO FINGERS EXTENDED IN A ”V”) – the Victory sign. ”Welcome, come in.”

He saw this was a strange place... they all looked like him, all fat and puffed-up, and smoking cigars and giving him the Victory sign. He tried hard to convince them, the whole night the discussion went on. He told them, ”You people are mad. I am the real...” They all laughed.

One of them said, ”Everybody here is real. Unreal Churchills don’t exist.”

Churchill tried, ”Don’t you recognize me?”

They said, ”Don’t you recognize us? We are very happy to have you. Six were already here, you are the seventh. More will be coming! But all are real! Nobody is unreal.”

He spent the whole tortured night with those six Churchills continuously smoking and talking the way Churchill used to talk, about war affairs and plans of how to defeat Hitler. Churchill was silent, ”What to do with these idiots?”

And they nagged him, ”Why are you sitting silently? If you are the real Churchill come in and discuss with us the problems of the country. The country is in danger and you are sitting silently. And you think you are the real Churchill?”

Churchill said later on, ”Once in a while in the night I had a doubt... these people are so certain, who knows? Maybe I am mad? I am certain, they are also certain, they seem to be more absolutely certain than me. I sometimes had some hesitation, maybe...”

In the morning he phoned to parliament, ”Send people to convince this jailer.” They were all worried, the whole night he had been searched for all over London. ”Where had he gone?” The whole of England was dependent on Churchill’s methodology to defeat Adolf Hitler. ”Where has he gone? Is it some conspiracy? Has Adolf Hitler abducted him?”

So when he phoned, people immediately came and told the jailer, ”You are an idiot. You tortured our prime minister.”

He said, ”Just come in, and you can see there are seven prime ministers. I am not at fault, they all say the same thing. This man was also saying the same thing. How am I to decide who is real? You come in.”

And when those people came in, they could not believe their eyes. They said, ”You are right, we are sorry. But this man is the real Churchill. We are taking him out.” And they were high officials of the parliament, so the jailer agreed.

Those six others said, ”What is the matter? That phony fellow has been taken out. We are the real Churchills – not one, six! – but nobody takes any care...”

It has been the experience in many countries. Ego is insane. If there is no God, the egoist can think of himself as God. But this can happen only if you are not acquainted with meditation. Meditation simply dissolves you into the cosmos. You are no more, only existence is.

It is time for Sardar Gurudayal Singh.

A new young priest, Father Fever, has just arrived at the ”Holy Saints of Sack-cloth” monastery. After a couple of weeks he is feeling so disturbed by sexual fantasies that he goes to see the father superior, old Father Fornicate, aged ninety-five.

”Ah, Father,” cries Fever, ”I am deeply troubled by impure thoughts, and sexual temptations come crowding into my mind – things like doggie-style and sixty-nine, French ticklers and satin panties with pictures of Jesus on them! The more I try to resist them, the more they crowd into my mind.”

”Hmm,” says Father Fornicate, adjusting his robe. ”So what would you like to know?”

”Well,” replies Father Fever, perspiring, ”you are ninety-five years old and one of the most ancient relics of the church – tell me, how old do you have to be before you are released from the lusts of the flesh?”

”Hmm,” says Father Fornicate, eyeing the young priest. ”It takes many years of self-torture and holy prayer before your mind is cleaned of all such wickedness.”

”Really?” asks the young priest. ”How many years?”

”Well,” replies old Fornicate with a sigh, ”I can tell you that it is more than ninety-five!”

Newton Hooton gets into Dingle Dilda’s New York taxi to go across town, and finds himself being thrown around inside the car as Dingle races through the streets.

”Hey! Slow down!” shouts Newton, when he finally manages to catch hold of something, ”or you will get us both into the hospital!”

”You don’t need to worry, mister,” replies Dingle. ”I have just got out of the hospital after being there for eighteen months, and I don’t intend going back!”

”Ah! I am sorry,” says Newton, feeling reassured. ”You were in the hospital for eighteen months – that must have been awful! Were you badly injured?”

”Nope! Not a scratch,” replies Dingle. ”It was a mental hospital!”
Peter Pumper gets onto the famous TV game show, ”Primal Passions”, and wins his way to the final round.

”Okay, Mister Pumper,” says Monty Mount, the emcee, ”for the big, sixty-four thousand dollar question, which subject do you choose?”

”I choose ‘Sexual Techniques,’” replies Peter, excitedly.

”Good,” shouts Monty, ”and in addition, you are allowed to choose any expert to help you answer the questions."

”I have brought with me the famous French sexologist, Andre Perverse,” replies Peter Pumper, confidently.

The audience gasps with approval.

”Right!” shouts Monty. ”Now enter the soundproof box together, and prepare to answer the big question on sexual techniques. You have exactly one minute to answer. The question is: You are in bed with your mistress, and you have exactly three kisses to arouse her to the max! Where would you place the first kiss?”

”On the lips!” cries Peter, without a second’s hesitation.

”CORRECT!” shouts Monty, ”And where would you place the second kiss?”

There is a pause as Peter thinks for a moment. But then he shouts, ”On the back of the neck!”

”CORRECT!” shouts Monty. The audience howls with approval.

”Now,” continues Monty, ”for the third and final part of the question – for sixty-four thousand dollars, where would you place the third kiss?”

Perspiration pours down Peter’s face. He is in trouble as the music plays louder and louder and time ticks away. In desperation, Peter turns to his partner, Andre Perverse, and says, ”Andre! You must help me...!”

But the Frenchman shakes his head frantically. ”Do not ask me, mon ami,” replies Andre. ”In my mind you have already been wrong twice!”

Nivedano...
(Drumbeat)
(Gibberish)
Nivedano...
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Be silent...

Close your eyes, and feel your bodies to be completely frozen.

This is the right moment to turn in. Gather all your energy, your total consciousness, and with an urgency as if this is going to be the last moment of your life, rush towards your very center of being.

Faster and faster...
Deeper and deeper...

As you come closer to your very center, a great silence descends over you. It is falling like soft rain.

A little more, closer, and a totally new experience...

Flowers of peace, flowers of serenity, flowers of absolute tranquility are growing all around you.

Just one step more and you are at the very center of your being, absolutely drunk with the divine, surrounded by an aura of ecstasy. You are facing your original face for the first time. The face of the buddha is just a symbol, it is really everybody’s face, the ultimate face.

The only quality the buddha has... all the buddhas, past, present, future are bound to have only one quality – witnessing, awareness.

Just witness you are not the body. Witness you are not the mind.
And witness you are only a witness.

You are just a buddha, utterly innocent, beyond mind, a pure space, infinite and eternal.

To make your witnessing deeper, Nivedano...
(Drumbeat)
Relax...

Let go, the same way as the flowers fall down from the trees... with easy heart, no tension, no anxiety. Settled at the center you are in tune with existence, your heartbeat is the heartbeat of the whole universe.

God is Dead, Now Zen is the Only Living Truth 55 ♡♥Osho♡♥