With my friend, meditation, I clean the skeletons from the closet.
With my friend, trust, I enter the dark basement and sweep it clean of ancient dust.
With my friend, the heart, I open all the windows and allow the fresh breezes in.
With my friend, awareness, I light candles in every room. In the kitchen, my friend, patience, prepares the tea.
In the garden, I sit with my friend, the master, and wait silently, for I know that the guest will soon be here.
Osho, when the doorbell rings, will I be there to answer it?
The guest always comes; its coming is certain. The bell also rings. The door is also always opened, without fail.
But the moment you open the door, you are not there. Existence is, being is, but you are not. The way you have known yourself up to now is no longer there, and what is there cannot be named, cannot be defined. It is all and everything…it is the very essence of existence.
You will not be there as you think yourself to be.
If you are there, then the guest cannot enter in.
In fact, the guest can come only when it becomes a certainty that you are ready to disappear. Your disappearance is the appearance of that which you have been seeking all along. This is a paradox: when the sought is found, the seeker is lost.
There are these words of Jesus – in some sense significant, but in a very much deeper way, not right. He says, “Seek, and ye shall find” – just a small sentence, “Seek, and ye shall find” – and every word is wrong, because if seeking continues, there is desire, there is longing. Seeking must stop, must disappear. “Seek, and ye shall find it.” You cannot find it; it will be found, but you cannot be the finder.
And it is the same with the other sentences that follow. They are beautiful sentences, very poetic – “Ask, and it shall be given to you” – but every word is wrong. Unless you stop asking, nothing can be given to you. Ask, and you will go on missing; stop asking, and it is there. It has always been there – you could not see it because your eyes were so full of asking. “Ask, and it shall be given to you” – again, to you? To you, nothing is possible; you are the barrier, you are the hindrance. You have to dissolve into the whole, just like a dewdrop disappears in the ocean.
And the third sentence is also beautiful: “Knock, and the door shall be opened unto you.” But all the words are wrong. You are not to knock; even that much effort on your part will not allow you to be totally relaxed. And the door is not closed, so there is no need to knock. If you are knocking, it must be before a wall, not before a door. The door of the divine is always open; you just go on knocking here and there.
“Knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” Who is there to open it? There is no God; that there is a God is presumably the idea behind Jesus’ sentence. But there is no one to open it – and particularly to you. If you are not, you suddenly find yourself at the door. And the door is open; it has always been open, so that you will not come and find it closed.