Osho Books I Have Loved Books I Have Loved

Books I Have Loved

Books I Have Loved

Okay. Get ready for your notes.

The world would have lost much without people like Devageet. We would not have known anything of Socrates if Plato had not written notes, nor of Buddha, nor Bodhidharma. Jesus too is known through his disciples’ notes. Mahavira is said never to have uttered a single word. I know the meaning of why it is said. It is not that he did not utter a single word, but that he never communicated to the world directly; it was only through the notes of his disciples.

There is not a single case known where an enlightened person has written anything himself. As you know, to me an enlightened person is not the last thing. There is still a transcendental state that is neither enlightened nor not-enlightened. Now, in that state of consciousness it is only through intimate communion – I am not using the word communication knowingly, but communion – a kind of merger, that the disciple becomes just the hand of the master.

So get ready for your notes, because last time, although unwillingly, I was going to mention the name of the poet-singer of Geet Govind. Somehow though I managed not to mention it. I pretended as if I had forgotten it, but it is heavy on me. The whole day I felt a little concerned about Jaydeva – that is the name of the poet-singer of Geet Govind.

Why was I not willing to mention his name? For his own sake. He was not even close to enlightenment. I have mentioned Mikhail Naimy, the creator of The Book of Mirdad; I have mentioned Kahlil Gibran, and many others: Nietzsche, Dostoevsky, Walt Whitman. They are not enlightened, but very close, just on the verge; one push and they will be in, in the temple. They are standing just at the door, not daring enough to knock...and the door is not locked. They can push and it will open. It is already open; it just needs a push, just as they need a push. Hence I mention their names.

But Jaydeva is not even close to the temple. It is a miracle how Geet Govind descended on him. But no one knows God’s mysteries – and remember there is no God, it is only an expression. Nobody knows the mysteries of existence, its abundance. Sometimes it pours on barren land; sometimes it does not rain on fertile soil. It is simply so, nothing can be done about it.

Jaydeva is a barren land; Geet Govind, this tremendously beautiful poetry, the song of God, descended upon him. He must have sung it, composed it, not knowing what he was doing. I don’t see him anywhere near the temple, that is why I was unwilling to mention his name. It may even make him more egoistic. That is why I said, “for his own sake,” but I felt it is not the poor man’s fault – whatsoever he is, he is – but he has given birth to a beautiful child, and if I have mentioned the child then let me mention the father’s name; otherwise people will think the child is a bastard. The father may have been, but the child is not.

I feel a great relief because I am finished with Jaydeva forever. But there is a queue standing at the door. You don’t know what a fix I am in. I had not thought of it before, because I am not a thinker and I never think before I jump. I jump, and then I think. It was just by the way that I mentioned ten beautiful books. I was not thinking so many others would start bugging me. So, ten more:

First: The Fragments of Heraclitus. I love this man. Let me mention it, just by the way, as a note in the margin, that I love all but I don’t like all. I like a few and I don’t like a few, but I love all. About that there is no question. I love Jaydeva as much as I love Heraclitus, but Heraclitus I like too.

There are very few whom I can put in the same category as Heraclitus. In fact, even to say that is not true; there is no one. Now I am saying what I really wanted to say always. There is no one, I repeat, who can be put in the same category as Heraclitus. He is just far out – dangerously awakened, unafraid of the consequences of what he was saying.

He says in these Fragments – again the notes of a Devageet, a disciple.... Heraclitus did not write. There must be something, some reason why these people do not write, but of that a little later. Heraclitus says in the Fragments, “You cannot step in the same river twice.” And then he says: “No, you cannot step in the same river even once....” This is tremendously beautiful, and true too.

Everything is changing, and changing so fast that there is no way to step in the same river twice; you can’t even step in the same river once. The river is constantly flowing; going, going, going to the ocean, to the infinite, going to disappear into the unknown.

This is the first on my list this evening: Heraclitus.

Osho, Books I Have Loved, Talk #4


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