The other day in discourse, your being, your beauty, struck me like a huge wave. I was again a child, looking with big eyes. It was like a window opening to something unknown, yet known.
Osho, would you like to speak on this experience? What is this amazement?
This amazement is pure love. A love unfettered by biological conditions. It is trust: a trust that has not been asked for, a trust that does not make you a slave, but gives you absolute freedom. This amazement is the whole secret that happens between the master and the disciple. Perhaps there is no other miracle in the world that can be compared to this. It is invisible, particularly to those who are unacquainted with anything like a master-disciple communion. It is something from being to being.
It will be good to have this comparison. Sex is from body to body. The ordinary so-called love is from heart to heart. And trust is the highest form of love from being to being. As you go deeper, things go on becoming more and more amazing, more and more unbelievable, but more and more an experience so definitive that you cannot doubt it. It is a transfer, a transmission between the being of the master and the disciple.
Your description about it is very accurate: as if a window has opened. Suddenly where there was just darkness, a cool breeze comes and a window opens and the whole sky with all its stars becomes available to you. Certainly one is stunned. The mind stops. And because the mind stops one feels as if one has become a child again.
You are also right in saying that it is something unknown, yet seems to be very much known. It is both. You have known it; it was your first experience as you were born and opened your eyes; your senses were immensely sensitive. Each day that has passed has been making them more and more insensitive. What people think of as the growth of a child is simply the death of the child.
The child knew something which even the old people don’t know. But his knowing was so simple that he could not formulate it into words. He could not say anything about it. He was seeing the roseflower in the garden and he was seeing the green, lush trees, but he had no idea what was green and what was a tree and what was a rose, what was a flower. He was seeing everything with better eyes than you have, because your eyes are too much covered with dust.
Life is a continuous traveling in which your senses become tired, dust-covered, your mirror no longer reflects, but distorts. And sometimes it stops even distorting, it is no longer a mirror. A thick layer of experiences covers it so totally that it becomes impossible for it to reflect anything.
The child’s eyes are pure, clean; so are his ears and other senses. The first moment when he opens to the world, he is filled with amazement and wonder. But there is no way for him to convey it. He has lived for nine months in a dark tunnel. No light penetrated there. No roses bloomed there. He was almost a part of his mother’s body. He was not an individual.