Madhuri remembers some special discourses….
We sat in Chuang Tzu Auditorium on a winter’s morning, rapt and still. He spoke and the magic wove itself in the air all about us, and penetrated as deeply as it could go into our interiors. We tried to let it in as best we could, that freedom borne on sound; that freedom massaging us without sound too – and to notice its path, first down in; and all about; then pushing or gliding up through our chakras till it touched the blue sky high above the auditorium roof. Our hearts gaping open for the passing.
Suddenly another sound came shrieking through the space! A huge black bird, beak pointed yet open, wings flapping like witches’ rags first, then held tight to his body, an unearthly screech coming out of him, came like a missile right in over our heads and hit the wall beside Osho’s chair. Then the creature fell to the floor, and did not move again.
This happened again on a day not long after – another kamikaze crow, or raven, or whatever he was – screaming and blasting through above us and then dying against the wall. And again.
Someone asked Osho why the birds were doing this. He said that they were dying there deliberately so that they would be born again in a higher form.
Sometimes we got from him these esoteric nuggets – like strange jewels.
Text and collage by Madhuri
Comments are closed.