Not the Cloud but the Sky
Ma Prem Neeraj
I went to India in 1977 because I was
in love; out of my mind, inexplicably drawn to Osho, that's all; not a
seeker of truth, just in love. My first in-the-flesh encounter with Osho
was at a Hindi discourse. I sat sari-veiled as tears streamed down, waterfalls
of connection to the source reached in Osho's presence. I had planned
to collect lots of useful therapy techniques and be back home in three
months; I stayed for almost three years.
The first phase
of being with the teacher insights, understanding and “bliss” sounded
good and easy. The next step included the blissful agony of actual change
through daily meditation, the pressure-cooker of intense group therapy
work and long meditation retreats. Following this period I lived on a
buffalo farm by the river, carrying water to my straw hut from the burning
ghat, each day participating in the Ashram meditations; returning to the
hut-village, swimming in the swirling river pool under the Tantric Moon...
Rajneesh... Lord of the Moon... Osho.
The desire for
enlightenment flickered through from time to time in this phase; it is
pervasive in an ashram, in the breath of Mother India. The Hindus say
“the world” is maya (illusion). I understand that to recognise one’s enlightenment
is to be out-of-illusion, disillusioned. Luckily, because of the clarity
of Osho’s teaching, I became “disillusioned with disillusionment” during
this time; seeing quickly enough that enlightenment as a state of achievement,
as a goal, as an end, is also an illusion. There were so many times that
glimpses of what Osho told us were my experience during these years in
Poona... standing under an enormous tree weighted with flowers in full
bloom; some days one petal falling at a time, other days a shower of flowers:
fragrant, silky, caressing, releasing and joining... Osho. I got it: “Carry
the water, chop the wood”; “Eat when hungry, sleep when sleepy”; the simple
life... “It doesn’t matter.”
In the last
period of my time in Poona I was deathly ill, shaking and sweating with
a very high fever. Arjava, a true friend, arranged for me to be admitted
into the Ashram hospital. As I floated above my body two doctors stood
on either side of the bed arguing the diagnosis: malaria typhoid. My
connection with Osho strengthened through this life-threatening illness
of tropical proportions... the “deep cleaner” Osho called typhoid fever.
After leaving the hospital I remained only another six months in India.
I was so weak physically and wondering if I was more ill than I knew.
I had wanted
to birth a baby for a long time; it was a lifelong desire. I was in my
thirties and for my physical body to heal in India might take too long.
In darshan when I had asked Osho a year before if I should have a baby,
he had wanted to know my age, shone his light and pronounced: “Soon centering
will be happening and then you can decide.” My dream was to give birth
surrounded by sannyasins, go to darshan and place the infant at Osho’s
feet. Sterile western medicine and modern testing facilities beckoned
with reassurance. I had met Arjava when Osho had given each of us the
June ’78 Tantra group. Throughout our story with Osho since then we have
been celebrating togetherness. We came back to Vancouver in May, 1980.
The despair and hopelessness glimpsed from time to time in Poona opened
to a dark endless night here in the West, with years of body weakness,
pain and “infertility,” family and society ridicule and an occupational
desertland.
Why were these
events experienced as a dark endless night when I say that I had tasted
the ocean of Osho’s Love? How did I forget that I was like a clay pot
in the river, the water inside the pot and the water outside of the pot
the same? Osho had told me this in darshan, in discourse answers... Neeraj,
you are not the cloud but the sky; not the pot but the ocean. And over
and over again I forgot and remembered; forget and remember.
When I returned
to the West I had lost what is called in Buddhism “beginner’s mind” (knowing
that you don’t know); and this is the re-entry to identifying with the
pot instead of the ocean, isn’t it? It is all so subtle; when in spiritual
ego you don’t realize that that’s where you are. I had an attitude that
“Now there is knowing.” From this place of spiritual arrogance I expected
life to be easier; paradoxically it became more difficult. When I became
pregnant the cloud did lift; and then I found myself expecting a cosmic
orgasm birthing experience and joyful effortless mothering. After 48 hours
of labour and a Caesarian section, I saw in my heart’s eye that expectations
bring frustrations; and Osho whispered loudly in my ear: “LIFE IS NOT
HERE TO MEET YOUR EXPECTATIONS; don’t you get it?!” Sometimes the sky
was cloudless; I was extremely grateful just to be alive, with Arjava
by my side and a healthy baby girl. That ecstatic gratitude was the unexpected
cosmic orgasm that both Arjava and I shared. I looked at him when this
new life force breathed in and said, to his acknowledging face: “Doesn’t
this feel like darshan?!” Osho called this one Shantam Leela (Silent Play).
Whenever I ask:
“Why is the universe not meeting my expectations?” I am in the pot again,
identified with the cloud that is passing in that moment. I have heard
Osho say that “Mothering is the most difficult meditation.” Why? My understanding
is that the difficulty arises when one instinctively identifies with the
child as their mother. In parenting, even when you think you can endure
no more demands on your energy, your caring pushes you further. I resist
this; in this resistance, the night is dark and endless again. There are
easier ways to get there, easier meditations, believe me! When I am identified
as an Osho devotee, as Leela’s mother, as Arjava’s mate, as a doctor/psychologist,
I am stuck. I am in the pot again. I have forgotten that the water inside
the pot and the water outside the pot are the same. This still happens;
the difference now is that it really doesn’t matter any more if I get
stuck sometimes.
It is really a mystery how this
change takes place. It seems that it comes by absorbing the Master’s ever-present
energy; Osho is in the stars, the trees, the flowers, the breeze, the
play. It happens by living, celebrating and recognising other seekers
of Truth; one finds kindred spirits on the path everywhere. In the community
of disciples around a Master there is love, experience and gentle, caring
guidance when I am open and vulnerable, when I ask for it, and when
I don’t have expectations about how it should manifest itself. I know
that the way to remember that I am not the pot, not the cloud, not the
form, is to experience myself as formlessness. The best medicine for transformation
is meditation. I call Vipassana (insight) meditation “the card in my back
pocket.” It is the simplest of methods, consisting of just watching the
belly as it is being moved by the breath. Inhaling and exhaling; watching
the breath without changing it, and having an attitude of observing while
neither expressing nor repressing. Witnessing the body, the senses and
the mind, or thoughts. It is known as “the meditation of the marketplace”
because it can be done anytime anywhere. When my mind has cornered me
with no-way-out now I can pull out this card. Vipassana: the watching
meditation which allows the pot to dissolve; the clouds to separate; which
allows me to stop trying, stop doing and just be.
This article originally appeared in Osho
Pulse #2
[http://www.globalserve.net/~sarlo/OshoPulse.htm]