I was born in the mountains, and throughout my childhood and youth I was pulled to explore, climb, or just sit on the peaks, on the steep walls, or by the side of a glacier stream. I lived in the mountains, and they fed me, like a mother, with something very precious.
Somewhere I read that the mountains, the high, snow-capped peaks are the very essence of Buddha.
Osho, the beauty that surrounds you, the cool breeze that hovers around you, is like the one coming from the highest, the wildest peak in the world.
I’ve been with you for seven years, and in this last period of time I felt that I was passing through the same pastures, the same plains I remember leaving for the heights seven years ago. I see the starting point as completely different now: it is sweet and beautiful, enough unto itself, no longer awful and disgusting as it used to be.
Osho, I haven’t come to know anything; the thousand suns did not shine in my head. All I’ve got now is myself, contented, at the same point from where I started my journey seven years ago.
Have I been dreaming all these years of traveling far away when my feet did not leave the base camp? Or was all this to realize that where I started from is where I belong?
Osho, please tell me… Sometimes this dream seems to be real, but now my being does not feel as if it is pulled to go anywhere. Have I been cheating myself? Or is this as far as it is allowed for me to go in this life?
Will you tell me the truth? I’m tired now; be merciless, but please say what is really happening to me.
It is not only with you, but with everybody exactly the same. You are what you are seeking. You are standing at exactly the place towards which you have been traveling – for seven years, seventy years or seven hundred years. Your reality is within you; it is not somewhere else. But to understand the point, sometimes it takes years. You knock on many doors before you come to your own door, and then you are puzzled, because this is the house you had left and this is the house you have been searching for.
But the search has not been useless; it has given you the eyes to recognize.
I have often told a Sufi story: a man renounces the world, his wife, his home. He is young and he is going in search of a master. Just outside his village under a tree, an old man is sitting. The sun is just setting, and darkness is descending. The young man says to the old man, “You look as if you are a traveler; you certainly don’t belong to my village. I am a young man and I am in search of a master. You are old; perhaps you have come across a master in your journeys, and will be kind enough to help me with some directives, some guidelines, because I am feeling at a loss where to go.”
The old man said, “I will give you exact details. The master looks like this” – and he described the face of the master, the eyes of the master, the nose of the master, the beard of the master, his robe. “And he sits under a certain tree” – and he described the tree.
And he said, “You will find him; just remember these details. Whenever you find a man who fulfills these criteria, you have found your master.”
Thirty years passed. The young man became old, tired. He never came across anybody fitting the description given by the old man. Finally he gave up the whole idea of finding a master: “Perhaps there is no master anywhere.”
He went back to his village. And as he was entering the village, under the same tree… It was sunrise, there was more light. The old man had become very old. The last time they had met he must have been sixty; now he was ninety. And because for thirty years the man had been looking for certain eyes, a certain nose, a certain beard, a certain robe, a certain tree… As he saw the tree and he saw the old man he said, “My God, so you were describing yourself! Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you force me to travel unnecessarily around the world for thirty years searching for you, while you were sitting here?”