Come a little closer

Question 1:

It is not only for George Gurdjieff or J. Krishnamurti, it is true for hundreds of masters down the ages, and there are reasons. They all died disenchanted, disappointed, disillusioned.

Let us go deeper, first into George Gurdjieff's last statement. The last statement of anybody is the most significant statement of his whole life; in a certain way his whole life is condensed in his last statement.

He was disenchanted because the disciples failed him, betrayed him, went against him, did everything to harm him -- and these were the people for whom he had devoted his whole life, each single moment of it. But still in his place I would not be disenchanted.

He thought that he was doing a very serious work. That's where the seed of his disenchantment was.

I am not doing any serious work. I am not doing work at all; it is my joy to share with you. Now what you do with it is your problem, not mine.

You cannot disappoint me.

You can betray me; there are people who have done that. You can do any kind of harm imaginable -- and people have done that. You can go against me, you can tell lies about me; still I will not be disenchanted, because in the first place I have never expected anything from you.

The disappointment comes from expectation.

The disenchantment comes from a deep hope that these people are going to fulfill my work. I don't have any expectation, any hope -- I am just so blissful that I cannot contain it; I want to share it unconditionally. It is the conditions which create disappointment.

Gurdjieff had worked hard with great expectations. And even people like P.D. Ouspensky, who had learned everything from the master, denied him. Ouspensky himself became a master; he even stopped using Gurdjieff's full name. When he had to mention him at certain points, he would use only G. He would not allow his own disciples to go to Gurdjieff, even to see him, and Gurdjieff had worked on this man for years, for decades.

And whatever Ouspensky said after separating himself from Gurdjieff -- each single word, each single insight -- was borrowed, it was not his own. Certainly he had a great talent; he was one of the best writers I have come across. Gurdjieff was not a writer.

Ouspensky was a great logician, a world famous mathematician, a great writer. Gurdjieff was none of these things, he was purely a mystic.

Gathering everything from the system of Gurdjieff, Ouspensky was in a position to write beautiful treatises, as if they were his own experience. Gurdjieff could not compete with him in writing, nor in speaking. Ouspensky was a very talented genius, well educated.

Gurdjieff was uneducated, coming from a very undeveloped tribe in the Caucasus, in Soviet Russia. But he had the whole mine of diamonds -- it is just that they were all uncut, unpolished. Only a man who had the eyes of a jeweler would be able to recognize them; otherwise they were just stones.

Ouspensky had the eyes of a jeweler; he recognized that this man had a treasure, but had not the talent to spread it... a great chance for exploitation. He learned everything from Gurdjieff, and the day he felt that now it was enough -- he could make a system out of it all -- he betrayed him. And he had to prevent his disciples from going to Gurdjieff, because personality-wise Ouspensky was just a schoolteacher -- he looked like a schoolteacher. Even while teaching mysticism there was a blackboard -- he was a mathematician. He would be teaching mysticism and writing on the blackboard; it was like a class, a university class. His students were taking notes....

Gurdjieff had a tremendously charismatic personality. Anybody who had seen him once could not forget the man; in a crowd of millions he would still stand out. If you had looked into his eyes once, those eyes would follow you your whole life. He was not a man of words, but a man of a tremendously powerful being.

And that was the fear of Ouspensky -- that if his disciples went to Gurdjieff, then whatever he had been saying against Gurdjieff would be exposed. And if they listened to that man... although he was not articulate, in a way he was the most articulate master ever. To say a simple thing he would take hundreds of pages. You have to find out where it is -- what he really wants to say. He will make up his own words, big long words spreading out over the whole line, a single word that you have never heard before -- it is his invention. He knew nothing about how to write; one paragraph will go running on for pages. No publisher was ready to publish his books; he had to publish them himself.

When his first book was published it was one thousand pages. It is one of the strangest books in the world, ALL AND EVERYTHING. He kept nine hundred pages uncut, and only one hundred pages -- that is the preface -- were cut, with a note to every customer who purchases it: "You read the preface and if you feel that it is worth reading on, then you can cut the remaining nine hundred pages. But if you feel it is not worth it you can take your money back -- return the book -- but don't cut the uncut pages. Those one hundred pages are enough example."

Even to understand those one hundred pages is a strange experience, particularly for those who don't know anything about mystics and their strange ways. Now he was not in any way able to compete with his own disciple Ouspensky. His books are so lucid, so beautifully written, so poetic, that I have not seen any other man who comes close to him, even close to him. Kahlil Gibran writes well, Mikhail Naimy writes well, but they don't even come close to Ouspensky.

Gurdjieff had much hope that Ouspensky would carry on his work. Rather than carrying on, he simply opened his own school against Gurdjieff -- teaching everything, because it is impossible to add to it; the system is complete and perfect. You cannot take anything out, you cannot put anything in. He was a great teacher, Ouspensky, but he was not a master. He influenced many people around the world; millions of people came to know of Gurdjieff only through Ouspensky. What a strange fate! And he was consistently trying to oppose him.

It was very difficult, because his whole teaching was borrowed from the man, but it was a logical necessity. He had to oppose Gurdjieff so nobody would think that he had borrowed all this teaching from Gurdjieff. It is an existential necessity that any disciple who betrays and wants to use the master's teaching to become himself a master, is bound to oppose the master, to create lies about the master. And naturally it was hurting Gurdjieff -- and it was not only Ouspensky, there were many others who were doing the same. For years Gurdjieff would work on them, and then one day they turned into his enemies. And to justify why they have left Gurdjieff they had to invent lies, they had to create a false image of Gurdjieff.

Ouspensky had a strategy. He said, "While I was with Gurdjieff he was right, and when I saw that he was going astray, I left him" -- Gurdjieff had gone astray, that's why the disciple had left. Up to that point Gurdjieff was right, and he could use his teachings without any difficulty. But beyond that point, for him Gurdjieff did not exist at all.

This was being done by many disciples, and if Gurdjieff was working with great expectations, naturally he was getting wounded, hurt. He could not believe that these were the people for whom he had lived and he had died; his whole life he had sacrificed, and these were the people.... That's why he said, "The institution is closed, is dead."

He was afraid that after his death his institution will also be used in the same way. "The institution is dead because I am dead." And these were all the wounds of his life saying it together. This statement is the statement of his whole life: "Man is cunning, cowardly, deceptive, hypocritical -- you cannot trust anybody."

This was his whole life's experience: You cannot trust anybody. He trusted many and he gave everything that he had, and still what had they returned? -- not even gratitude. And he was not asking for anything else. But his people had given him no reverence, no gratitude, no respect -- on the contrary, great antagonism, opposition, all kinds of fictions condemning him... Naturally he was disappointed.

But my approach is totally different. I trust you, not because of your trustworthiness; otherwise the same will be my experience. I do not have to wait for my death to come; already I have worked with people for years and they have repaid me very well. I trust you because I cannot distrust; so there is no burden on you -- you can betray me, but you cannot hurt me. I have trusted you, not because of you, but because of me. And I am still there, the same.

See the difference. To trust a person is possible in two ways: either because of his trustworthiness -- then there is danger, there is risk -- or because you enjoy trusting. The trustworthiness or unworthiness have no relevance.

Secondly Gurdjieff and all these people took their work very seriously -- the transformation of man, the transformation of human society... they took it too seriously.

And when people did not live up to their seriousness they felt that something is basically wrong with man, that nothing can be done about him. Then a great hopelessness arose in them.

It cannot happen to me, because I am not serious at all. I do not think that existence has given me a certain responsibility, to transform man or human society. Who am I to bother about all this? One day I was not here -- the society was there, man was there, existence was there.... One day I will not be here, so just for a few days in between.... And existence has not given me any job that has to be done. Why should I be serious? I am simply playful.

If everybody betrays me I will have the last laugh; I will enjoy that moment too. I will say to myself, "Great! I love to play; I played well. And these people were good; as long as they could continue to be with me, they managed and continued -- in difficulties, in troubles. When they found it was too much, they went on their own."

Even if I am left alone I will not be disappointed. I will simply enjoy the moment, that this has been a great life -- so many seasons, so many changes, so many people, so much love, so much trust. And I am going out of life without leaving any footprints behind. I will not feel that I have wasted my life. I don't think that there could have been any better way to live, and to love, and to laugh.

J. Krishnamurti was very serious -- I don't think he ever smiled. A long life: ninety years.

His fame started very early, at thirteen years old; so really he had a very long life of work and disappointments. Even the closest ones betrayed him. His whole life seems to be just a series of betrayals, and those who remained never managed to understand what he was saying. They listened to him for half a century, but still he could not cross their thick minds and reach to their being. And every day... if you look at his life, in the beginning he was very hopeful, very excited that man can be changed, that a new man can arrive.

But slowly, slowly that hope disappeared, that excitement was no more there. And as he grew older, he became sadder.

For twenty years, just because of his seriousness, he suffered from migraine continuously. No medicine could help, no physician... and every physician told him, "You are straining your whole brain system too much. You are too serious, you should relax; you have taken too much of a burden on yourself." Sometimes his migraine was so much that he would like to have hit his head against the wall.

While speaking he was almost screaming, shouting, hitting his own head, because he could not understand that you are unable to understand such a simple thing. For example, he was explaining the same thing his whole life: that meditation cannot be done, it is a happening. And he would talk for one hour about the difference between doing and happening, and then somebody who was just sitting in front of him listening attentively, would stand up and ask, "How can we do meditation?"

I would have laughed at the whole thing, but he would hit his head... too serious. And as death was coming closer he was becoming more and more serious, knowing now that his life had been a failure. He worked hard, immensely hard. His approach was very clean and very clear. His way of working was very logical, very intellectual, absolutely contemporary: an impeccable life of worth -- he was a perfectionist.

But in the end the hands are empty. As far as results are concerned, nothing has happened, as if he had not been here. The world goes on... the old routine, the old rut. Do you see anything that has changed because J. Krishnamurti was born, and lived for ninety years? Has it made even a scratch? Naturally he died in the same state.

And this has been the case with thousands of masters; humanity remains unevolving because they are so serious in wanting man to evolve. And naturally they fail.

But I cannot fail, because I am not concerned at all whether humanity evolves or not, whether the new man is born or not. I enjoy these ideas and I enjoy communicating them to people, and there I am perfectly victorious. I don't need to wait to be victorious until you have changed; that will be your victory. My victory is that I have been able to communicate what I wanted to communicate. Now what you do with it is your freedom.

I will not call it betrayal, and I will not call it opposition, and I will not call your things lies. If you are enjoying doing these things it is perfectly good -- enjoyment is good. If somebody is creating lies about me and is feeling perfectly happy about it, why should he be stopped? He has all my blessings.

In India it happened, one man wrote a book against me and he sent me the proof copy. I looked into it -- it was all rubbish, lies, fictitious stories with no evidence. Still, I sent him my blessings and told him to print it on the first page of the book. He could not believe it; he was so disturbed: what kind of man is this?

He lived in Baroda, a thousand miles away from me, but he came to see me -- he had never seen me. He was just collecting third-rate yellow newspapers and cuttings and gossips, rumors... and he managed to make a book. And he asked me "Have you seen inside or have you simply sent blessings?"

I said, "I have gone through it word for word; it is all bullshit, but you have done so much work collecting bullshit, you need blessings."

He said, "But this looks strange -- with your blessings. I know this book: even while I was collecting and writing.... My purpose is to earn money -- this book is going to become a bestseller -- but now seeing you and your response, I feel perhaps I should not have done this."

I said, "No, you continue. Let this book go into the market. Collect more, because while I am alive more and more lies will be there, more and more gossips, rumors -- you can always earn money; this is a good way. It is not doing any harm to me. And the picture you have chosen for the cover is really beautiful."

He said, "My God! I was thinking you would be angry, ferocious."

I said, "Why should I be angry, why should I be ferocious? Life is too short to be angry, to be ferocious. Even if we can manage to be blissful, that's enough; if we can manage to bless, that's enough. What you do is your business, but you have done it well. Your writing is good; what you have written is nonsense, but the way you have put it and presented it is really good. And you devoted almost one year to my service. I cannot pay you, but I can give you my blessing."

And the book was published with my blessings and every criticism that appeared in newspapers about the book mentioned it: "It is strange that Osho blesses it." And just that simple blessing cancels the whole book.

My whole approach is different, so totally different that it has never been used before. I am enjoying everything that has happened, is happening -- perhaps tomorrow I will be arrested, deported, but I have been enjoying it. Then Hasya has to find a new place, so I can be deported again! We are not going to leave a single country unblessed.

In fact I cannot conceive a situation that will be a disappointment to me. You have to forgive me -- I am simply so fulfilled and so happy, so centered that nothing can affect me. Any new kind of situation is really a great excitement. And to live without any conditions, to live with people who have total freedom to be the way they want to be, is already a transformation. All old approaches have failed. Now let us see what happens to my approach. As far as I am concerned I cannot fail, because I am squeezing the juice of life every moment; I don't leave it for another moment.

What has to be seen is how many people can become as successful, as victorious as I am.

I am giving them all the cues, now it is their problem. If they fail they should be disappointed; why should I be disappointed? If they succeed, they should rejoice. I can participate in their rejoicing, but there is no way to disappoint me.

Just include me out of the category of Gurdjieff, Krishnamurti and others.

Question 2:

Money is a strange thing.

If you do not have it, it is a simple matter -- you don't have it. There is no complexity.

But if you have it, then it certainly creates complexities.

One of the greatest problems that money creates is that you never know whether you are loved or your money is loved, whether you are desirable or your money is desirable. And it is so difficult to figure out, that one would have preferred not to have had money; at least life would have been simple.

Just a few days before, Hasya was telling me about Aristotle Onassis' daughter. I remember seeing her picture when Onassis was alive, perhaps ten years ago. She was a beautiful, well-proportioned, charming young girl. But Onassis died and left her with a lot of money, and that created hell for her. Since then she has married three times, and each marriage fails because she thinks the person loves her money, not her.

And this starts from the very beginning; the day of marriage is really the day of divorce.

On the day of marriage she takes a guarantee from the person -- a legal document before the court -- that he will not take her money. In case divorce happens, he will not ask for money. Now can you conceive a marriage to be worthwhile, when on the first day the woman is asking you to give in writing before the court that you are interested in her, and not in her money; and that in case a divorce happens you will not ask for money? The divorce has already happened.

In the fourth marriage she got into more troubled waters. Before I describe the fourth marriage, something else has to be said which was happening on the side. She was becoming fatter, uglier, as if deep down in her psychology she wanted to prove, "You love me whether I am beautiful or ugly, shapely or fat -- you don't love my money."

And she has become so ugly now that she avoids photographers, news media: she hides and does not want her pictures to be taken. Perhaps it is because she was uncertain whether she is loved, or her money. And most probably the people who have been with her were for the money, not for her. She did not receive love. The proof is that she started eating too much. If you are loved, you are so full of love, so filled with love that you don't eat too much.

I have been traveling in India, staying with different families, and I have come across at least three women who told me the same thing, that while I am staying in their homes they cannot eat. When I was told this for the first time I said, "This is strange. Why can't you eat?"

They said, "We don't know, but we don't feel hungry either. We feel perfectly good, with more well-being than we have ever felt. You stay three days and we can't eat. And we wait the whole year again when you will be back in the city for three days; those three days become a beautiful memory."

When I was told by another woman, and then by another woman... I had to look into the fact -- what is the matter? They felt so loved, and they loved me so much that there was no need for any food, as if love was enough nourishment. And after three days they did not look hungry, they did not look starved. One of these three was a Jaina woman, and she said, "Now I know what a real fast should be." She had been fasting for almost ten years, long fasts of ten days.

In the Jaina tradition, those Jainas who are very orthodox, fast for ten days every year in the rainy season. This woman has been fasting for ten days for almost ten years, and she said to me, "Now I know that was not fasting, that was simply starving because I was continuously thinking of food, food and food. I could not sleep in the night because of hunger; even if I fell asleep for a few moments or a few hours I was dreaming of food. I was thinking of food, I was dreaming of food; except food there was nothing in me. For these three days while you stay in my house I know what fasting is. I never think about food at all. It just comes naturally that I don't feel any hunger; I feel so fulfilled."

Onassis' immense riches have created a hell for the poor girl, a feeling that she is not loved. And not coming in contact with a man like me who could have told her.... The question is not that you should be loved, the question is that you should love. Why bother about why the other loves you? Have you ever thought about why you love the other? For what? And then you will understand the situation. Perhaps it is because of his hair? Then you don't love the man. Perhaps because of his eyes? Then you don't love the man.

Perhaps because of his nose? Then you don't love the man. If you have any reason to love, then you don't love the man. So why are you making so much fuss about money?

You should love and you should be loved, and you should be loved more because of your money. There is nothing wrong in it; you have something more than any other woman has. Otherwise, each thing will start creating problems: you have a beautiful face, that's why this man loves -- he does not love you. If you had a face with pockmarks this man would not love you. Because you have eyes, this man loves you; if you were blind, this man would not love you. Then you are creating unnecessary problems for yourself. This man certainly loves you, in your totality, and your money is part of you. Why make it separate? You are rich, just as somebody is beautiful; you are rich just as somebody is a dancer. But the dancer will not ask the question, "Do you love me or my dance?" If she asks the question she will be in trouble.

In the fourth marriage Onassis' daughter found a rich man, just to be certain that "He is himself so rich that he will love me, he will not love my riches -- he himself is a big industrialist." And because of this she did not repeat the ritual of going to the court after marriage, and taking a certificate from the man, that in case of divorce he will not ask for money. Seeing that the man is so rich, it looked absurd to ask. But this man proved really cunning, and because there was no certificate he divorced her and took almost half of her fortune.

Now, something like money, that could have been a great pleasure, has turned out to be immense anguish. But it is not money, it is your mind. Money is useful. There is no sin in having money, there is no need to feel guilt; otherwise everybody should feel guilty. I should start feeling guilty -- "Why am I enlightened, when there are so many millions of people who are not enlightened? I must commit suicide, because the world is full of unenlightened people, and I must be immensely selfish to be enlightened."

I don't ask you, "Why do you love me? Do you love me or do you love my enlightenment? If you love my enlightenment then -- finished! Then you don't love me."

But why make these divisions? This is how mind creates misery. You have money, enjoy it! And if somebody loves you, do not pose this question because you are putting the person in a really bad situation. If he says he loves you, you are not going to believe it, and if he says he loves your money you are going to believe it. But if he loves your money, then the whole affair is finished. Deep down you will go on suspecting that he loves your money, not you. But there is nothing wrong: the money is yours, just as the nose is yours, and the eyes are yours, and the hair is yours, and this man loves you in your totality. The money is also part of you -- don't separate it, then there is no problem.

Try to live a life with as little complexities and as few problems as possible. And it is in your hands; we go on creating unnecessary problems. At least being with me, you should learn that all problems are created; there is no real problem.

This question is from Avirbhava. She has suffered from this question her whole life, and absolutely unnecessarily. Your money should make your life richer, more lovable, and it is making it difficult.

Whenever anybody starts loving you, you are constantly thinking about the money -- "this man is interested in the money, not in me." Even if he is interested in the money...

who is not interested in money? He is simply being human. He is not a Buddhist monk, he is interested in money. But this does not mean that he is not interested in you. He is interested in you more because you are not only a woman, but a rich woman. Enjoy the idea, and drop this problem forever.

Question 3:

Just come a little closer. People are afraid of coming closer, particularly to a person like me.

The fear is that coming closer to me they may be dissolved.

Coming closer to me they may disappear.

So they keep a certain distance, they come only so far, so they can remain themselves; if the time comes and their mind decides to move away, they can.

But if you come really close, that means you have taken a total jump, a quantum leap; now there is no going away, now there is no possibility of going away. Now you are melting and dissolving into the unknown. People come close but only so far, so they can escape if they want to, they can turn their back if they want.

Do you know the meaning of the word "hippie"? It simply means showing your hips -- turning your back. The hippie is one who is turning his back towards the world, its problems, its challenges; he is running, escaping.

Coming close to me... don't stop as long as you are, only then your candle will be lighted.

And this is the beauty of candles: you can light one candle in this room, or one thousand candles in this room. The candles may be one thousand, but the light will be one. So when a disciple comes too close to the master, the candles remain two, but the light becomes one. The flames remain two. That's why I have to make a seemingly contradictory statement: that when you dissolve into the master, for the first time you are not, and for the first time you are. You are not your old self, but now you have a new individuality. What you have lost was never yours; what you have gained was always yours, but was covered with the false.

Two lighted candles will create only one light in the room. There can be two thousand, there can be two million -- it will not make any difference, the light will be one. So in a certain way they will all be individuals, and in a certain way they will all be part of an oceanic existence.