Читать книгу OSHO: The Buddha for the Future - Maneesha James - Страница 8

There are going to be three categories of sannyasins. One … will take short-term sannyas … will meditate and go through some kind of spiritual discipline at some secluded place and then return to their old lives. The second category will be of those who will take sannyas, but remain wherever they are. They will continue to be in their occupations as before, but they will now be actors and not doers, and they will also be witnesses to life and living. …The last category of sannyasins will live in meditation and carry the message of meditation to those who are thirsty for it. ~ Osho

Until six years ago or so, Osho has been traveling around India. Then in 1968 he had moved into an apartment block in Mumbai known as Woodlands, with a small group of sannyasins. Then, in March 1974 he had arrived here in Koregaon Park.

By now, Dynamic and Kundalini have been happening regularly morning and evening; in August a new meditation comes into being, the very vigorous Mandala meditation. It lasts one hour and has four stages of 15 minutes each. The first stage is incredibly demanding even for me, a 27-year-old. With your eyes open you simply run on the spot, slowly at first and then increasing your speed. But you are not just running; you have to make sure you bring your knees up as high as you can, all the while breathing deeply and evenly.

You get to sit for the next stage and be “like a reed blowing in the wind—from side to side, back and forth, around and around as it happens.” This brings all the energy you just activated to the navel center. Then you lie on your back—bliss!—and rotate your eyes, like a clock, and in the last stage you are just still and silent.

September sees the introduction of yet another meditation method: Shiva-Netra. Focusing on the third eye, it is in complete contrast to Mandala, being very passive. There are three stages of ten minutes each, and each is repeated twice. In the first you sit very still and listen to the beautiful music especially created for it. The second stage features a blue light, at which you gaze gently; then in the final stage you close your eyes and sway from aide to side.

In the early months of 1975 we see yet another new meditation. Gourishankar (it means the peak of the Himalayas, Mt Everest, in Hindi) is said to stimulate the third eye. That’s not an actual eye, of course, but an energy center or “chakra” in the middle of the forehead, between the two physical eyes. If the frenzied activity Dynamic has been taxing, sitting still for this hour is even more so for me, still a chronic, impatient doer at this point. Yet by and by I come to love this time: the darkness of the night, blankets over the hundreds of us, cross-legged figures, sitting gazing at the pulsating blue light set up at the front of the hall.

All the meditation music is created by Chaitanya Hari, a German sannyasin who, under the name of Deuter, will later be acclaimed as the founder of New Age music. Shortly after Osho arrived in Pune, Chaitanya was invited to move into the ashram to compose music for Osho’s meditations. Osho explains his idea about the music for the first one, Kundalini—what the effect should be, what the music should help with, what the goal of the meditation is, and what the music should do for it. So with that outline, Chaitanya Hari then “tries and puts some music together.”

His second project is Dynamic, followed over time with the others: Mandala, Nadabrahma, Whirling, Mandala, Devavani, Nataraj, Gourishankar—in fact, all the meditations Osho introduces before 1981. The music is, without exception, fabulous. Hearing it again and again it becomes embedded in me, along with the feeling of each particular method.

*

In March 1975, we have a large “Enlightenment Day” celebration. Attended by many Indian sannyasins and other visitors, it is held in Chuang Tzu Auditorium. This is a beautiful structure that protrudes from the side of Lao Tzu House right into the garden—more like a jungle, really—that surrounds Osho’s residence.

One evening in this same month, Vivek taps on my bedroom door: I am to come to darshan. (I am now living in Lao Tzu House.) As I enter the darshan porch, Osho is talking with a sannyasin, and I sit down quietly. After a few minutes Osho tums and beckons me closer.

“Maneesha, when you were a child, you prayed?”

(Me, not knowing if he thinks it a good or a bad thing), “Yes, Osho.”

“So now you pray like you did when you were a child—exactly, you do what you used to do, mm?”

I sit in a kneeling position, back straight and hands folded. Then, to set the scene, I turn to Osho: “I am by my bed and I’ve got my pajamas on,” I explain, and he nods gently. I turn back to my position, close my eyes and inwardly am whisked straight back to my eight-year old self.

“Dear God, um… thank you for a lovely day. It was good not having to go to school. But would you tell Diana and Tony to let me play with them, and could Mum not get so cross with me? My dolls are being good, and Cuddly is not sick anymore, Amen.”

“Good, Maneesha,” says Osho, and turns to tell the sannyasin and the rest of the group that now we will learn the Prayer Meditation. He then instructs me to kneel, with my body upright, facing the sannyasin to whom Osho has been talking, my arms raised to the sky. I am to feel that I am receiving energy, being rained on, from above; and when I feel filled, I should slowly lower my arms and body to the ground and pour the energy into the earth. When I feel emptied I am to raise my arms and start again. This is to be done seven times, Osho explains; otherwise the process will be incomplete.

When I raise my arms, eyes closed, I prepare to imagine being rained on with energy. Curiously, I am filled with energy—in fact, by and by filled so full that my arms start trembling as I am drenched with this unknown force. I start sobbing with the pure and unexpected joy of it. Then, feeling almost burdened, I lower my body to the floor, my head resting there and my arms out flat, while the trembling flushes through me and is released through my outstretched arms. Emptied, I again raise my arms; again the beautiful feeling of receiving and of allowing my body to be trembled. As Osho has instructed, I repeat this six more times.

Osho turns to the sannyasin and suggests he do this meditation each morning or evening, whatever feels best.

“And Maneesha, you continue to do it too, just before you go to sleep. Arrange it so that you can go to bed immediately afterward. Do everything else that you need to do before, so you can simply fall into sleep with that energy around you, surrounding you.”

A few minutes later I quietly rise and return to my room, clutching the small hand towel Osho has just given me. Such a towel always sits over his left arm during discourse, and occasionally he presents one as a gift to a sannyasin who is leaving or to someone who is experiencing some stuck energy. In the latter case he instructs the person to place the towel on the area of tension when they are meditating or just lying down relaxing. He has told me to place my towel in front of me whenever I do the Prayer Meditation; on another occasion, he says to bring it with me whenever I come to darshan.

Some evenings later, again the tap on the door from Vivek: “Come to darshan!” Flushed with excitement I enter the porch, equipped now with my Osho towel. This time I am to stand behind the sannyasin in front of Osho and to put my hands gently on his shoulders. Osho leans forward, the small pencil flashlight he occasionally uses in darshan softly focused on the sannyasin’s forehead. I close my eyes until I hear Osho’s gentle voice saying—“Good, Asang … come back. Very good! Good, Maneesha.”

Once or twice more during the evening, I am asked to rub someone’s third eye, or place my hands on their body where they feel their energy is blocked. I have no idea what I am meant to be thinking or if I am to think at all! Osho has given no instruction other than what I am to do physically. Though I don’t know what my purpose is in being there, I enjoy these evenings tremendously. A few days pass and then Vivek tells me that I can come to darshan every evening. I can’t believe how lucky I am.

*

There are a seemingly never-ending variety of situations that are created in darshan. Most often I am instructed just to gently rub the center of someone’s forehead, above the nose, between the eyes, “the third”; and invariably Osho’s little flashlight is in action. What its function is I have no idea. Perhaps that’s to my advantage and all that is needed: a head that isn’t too busy analyzing things.

One evening Osho talks to us about yet another new method. Devavani starts off with one speaking in a “gentle, unfamiliar language,” and it is to Vivek, his caretaker, who sits on his left side, that Osho turns to demonstrate what he intends. She lowers her head, her eyes closed, and very quietly makes some sounds; she seems ill at ease. Then we all join in; apparently this is very relaxing for the mind, creating a sense of great serenity.

When the meditation is finalized, this stage (each stage is fifteen minutes long) is preceded by you sitting quietly while music plays. In the third stage you stand and, still talking in this unknown language, you let your body move softly, in an unstructured and spontaneous way. This is known as Latihan, a practice from the Subud tradition. The final stage is of lying down and just being still and silent.

*

One evening Osho creates a role-play around a sannyasin who has told him of the conflict he feels with his parents. Osho instructs a male sannyasin to be father and, “Maneesha, you be the mother, he chuckles, a real Jewish mother!” I can’t recall exactly what we do, but our combined performance provokes a lot of amusement and the now-less-conflicted sannyasin returns laughing to his place.

On another occasion Osho asks me to go down the steps of the darshan porch into the large, pot-plant-lined parking area. “Dance!” is the simple instruction, and I begin waltzing around, keeping in rhythm by humming the tune of “Plaisir d’amour.” Adoring dancing and not shy of the spotlight, I would have happily pranced about for hours. But after a few moments Osho calls me back to the upper porch. “Now move as if you are doing T’ai Chi.” That I’ve never done, though I understand the basic principle of moving very slowly and consciously, with the delicate movements of a flamingo. So I begin my version of T’ai Chi: within moments a lovely, calming feeling settles inside me.

Having called me back, Osho asks which form of movement I feel best doing. I like them both for different reasons, I reply. Perhaps the less structured form of dance serves best whatever purpose Osho has in mind for us: from that evening (we are now in August 1975) the Nataraj Meditation is born. The first stage is forty minutes of spontaneous dancing, “losing oneself in the dance,” followed by twenty minutes lying down, still and silent, and finishing with five minutes of dancing.

In the same month Nadabrahma comes into being. Sitting upright and cross-legged, you hum for thirty minutes. In the next stage, with palms uppermost you move your hands—very, very slowly—in an outward, circular motion, for seven and a half minutes; then, palms now facing downward you make inward-turning circles for a further seven and a half minutes. In the last stage you are still and silent.

Though I don’t immediately feel the effect of the hand-moving stage, the humming stage feels beautiful. On the evening that Osho introduces this meditation, he suggests that I experiment with the hand-moving stage, sometimes having the palm downward, sometimes upward. I’m then to let him know at the end of a week’s experimentation if I feel any difference between the two….

The most memorable happening in darshan for me is the night on which Osho introduces us to a very serious meditation indeed! I have no idea what is in store when at one point he instructs me to go down to the lower porch and stand facing the garden (so I am at right angles to him and the watching group). I am to put my feet slightly apart, with my hands on my hips. Thus positioned, I turn my head toward Osho, some yards away, and wait for the next instruction.

“Good. Now, start laughing.”

Laugh? Just like that? I look up at the moon and silently tell it, “Osho says to me to laugh!” Impassively the moon gazes back at me. “I can’t!” I protest silently. “You can’t just laugh for no reason—that’s crazy!” It is, and I start laughing at the lunacy of Osho’s instruction. Then I realize that is just what I am meant to do, and that makes me laugh even more. Osho is chuckling now and the entire group has joined in too. Finally, smiling broadly Osho says, “Good, Maneesha! Come back!”

Word of this particular meditation spreads quickly, and within a short time a small group starts meeting regularly, just to laugh. Years later, laughter will also be an important component of one of Osho’s “meditative therapies,” The Mystic Rose.

*

On one of those early darshan days, I ask if I might take notes of the conversations Osho is having with the many people who come and go. The interchanges are unique and so precious: to my ears everything Osho says is awesome. Yet this treasure trove of spontaneous wisdom, wit and compassion is lost to everyone else except we few lucky ones who happen to be present. Osho agrees to my suggestion, and so when I am not rubbing third eyes or laughing at the moon, I busily scribble notes into my trusty pad.

*

One evening I hear Osho say that soon thousands of people will be flooding in through the gates. When I moved into the ashram there had been perhaps a dozen people living in it, but over the next few years it undergoes a great transformation. Seekers, especially Westerners, arrive in increasing numbers. The addition of new property helps to accommodate many of us, the remaining living in apartments or beautiful bamboo huts in and around Koregaon Park.

Although we are all in Pune because of our love for Osho, as far as I can see there is no such thing as a “typical sannyasin.” For one thing, we come from so many and such diverse cultures and conditionings.

The South American Primal therapist, the social worker from Canada, the titled (“The Honorable”) Englishman just like a character from a PG Wodehouse novel; the teacher from Australia, the musician from America, and the actress from New Zealand; Veena, a model from South Africa; Devadasi from Denmark, Neeraj from Ethiopia, Geeta from Japan, Alok from China, Arup from Holland, Gopi from Paris, ex-nun Chintana from Ireland; the Italian count, the German prince and, of course, a constant stream of Indians from a multitude of different states and professions—our diversity says something about Osho’s eclecticism, his capacity to embrace, understand, and communicate across many, many different cultural idiosyncrasies.

Many of us live in and around the ashram for years on end; because of work or familial responsibilities, others come for some time and then return to their homes. In a discourse some years earlier, Osho anticipates this when he describes three categories of sannyasins:

One of them will consist of those who will take short-term sannyas, say for two or three months. They will meditate and go through some kind of spiritual discipline at some secluded place and then return to their old lives. The second category will be of those who will take sannyas but remain wherever they are. They will continue to be in their occupations as before, but they will now be actors and not doers, and they will also be witnesses to life and living.

The third category will consist of sannyasins who will go so deep into the bliss and ecstasy of sannyas that the question of their return to their old world will not arise. They will bear no such responsibilities as will make it necessary for them to be tied to their families; nobody will depend on them and no one will be hurt by their withdrawal from society. The last category of sannyasins will live in meditation and carry the message of meditation to those who are thirsty for it.

*

Among those arriving from the West are therapists of many different kinds, and some of them are invited to conduct their groups in the ashram. The first are Encounter, Primal Therapy, and Intensive Enlightenment, later this year to be joined by massage, Divine Healing, Arica, Aum, Vipassana, Tao, and Tathata. In addition, a regular feature of our nightlife is “music group,” held in Buddha Hall. It’s led by a German sannyasin, Anubhava. His voice is quite something—tender and at the same time, strong; passionate and also reverential. Beautiful to hear, wending its way over the trees to where a small group of us sits with Osho, the sound of many joyful voices, women’s and men’s, accompanied by an assortment of musical instruments led by Anubhava’s guitar.

*

1975 is an eventful year, one of the highlights being Osho’s father—fondly known by us as Dadaji—receiving sannyas. On the morning of October 19th around 5:00, while meditating Dadaji has, according to the family, a suspected heart attack. He speaking is garbled, but the family is able to decipher that he is also asking them to call Osho.

Osho enters and makes to touch his father’s feet, but Dadaji says, “Enough! Now no more. I will touch your feet.” He asks Osho to stand on the bed—a bit of a balancing act as Osho’s long white gown is quite narrow but he manages. Dadaji then bows down and touches Osho’s feet. Meanwhile Osho tells Laxmi to bring a mala because “Sannyas is happening to Dadaji.” Laxmi, having no extra mala with her, takes hers off and hands it to Osho. Dadaji lowers his head, Osho gently placing the mala around his neck and pronouncing, “He is now Swami Devateerth Bharti.” His father responds, “From now onward you are my master; I am your disciple. From now onward I will touch your feet.”

Pratiksha, one of Osho’s nieces, comments later, “I witnessed this grand event at the age of eleven. It is something phenomenal—a father taking sannyas from his own son.”

*

Hepatitis lays me low for six weeks. It is a novel experience to be playing the patient for the first time in my life! Normally constantly on the go, and that too, always in an accelerated mode, I enjoy being entirely without energy. Even the short trip from bed to the bathroom makes me almost faint with the exertion. An unaccustomed silence and serenity descend on me. Inevitably I lose weight and enjoy the rather ethereal air with which it imbues me. And to top it all off, nobody expects me to do anything other than be an obedient and docile patient. Sometimes I fantasize about my newly found serenity, imagining in some healthier future the admiring whispers of passers-by as they exclaim at my Madonna-like peace and evident purity.

In due course the sickness subsides, taking with it my Madonna fantasies. Energy restored, in September I return to darshan. Those of us who attend regularly include Vivek, Mukta, and Laxmi, Osho’s secretary. Before my absence a fourth person, Shiva (he whom I first met in London and who lent me an Osho book), is also attending: Laxmi had been attacked by an Indian recently and Osho had suggested that Shiva be present as protection for her.

While I have been away, he has moved his place closer to Osho. Has he been upgraded to be Osho’s bodyguard as well as or instead of Laxmi’s? Whatever his real role is, it is something of a standing joke—and I tease Shiva about it—that he uses his position to note all the attractive women on their arrival and makes a beeline for them after darshan!

On this, my first evening back, Osho calls me forward and asks how I am feeling: “Quite well now?” Yes, completely, I reply.

“So now you start recording the meetings here and create books,” Osho says. “You bring a tape recorder and make notes if you need to. And you tell Shiva what photographs you would like for the book; he will take them. ”Osho pauses, then: “You would like this work?”

As it dawns on me what Osho is offering—the opportunity to continue to be at darshan every night, and not only that, but to work with his words—I am speechless. I manage a nod and then burst into tears.

“Good, Maneesha!” he chuckles.

After a whispered, “Thank you, Osho,” I scoop up what remains of me from the floor, and float back to my place.

*

Only later do I realize that apart from handing me the most amazing job I could have imagined, in regard to Shiva Osho has demonstrated how a master works. It turns out that Shiva’s role of bodyguard to Osho has been a self-appointment; yet Osho does not make any comment on what he has done. Instead, he includes Shiva in a new project—that of taking photos for what become known as the “darshan diaries.” He knows Shiva enjoys photography and obviously enjoys being at darshan, too. Shiva can’t help but feel pleased with his involvement in this entirely new venture, though his new position diminishes the one he has chosen. In the least hurtful way possible, Osho has indicated that Shiva’s energy is better directed into photography than being his guardian.

Over the years, Osho talks occasionally about the difficulties a master encounters in trying to work on his disciples. It is an “unenviable task,” he says once. I begin to see how very fragile are our egos and how tricky the games we play to protect them.