The colour of you, beloved Osho


“It is written in my breath and bones to fly on the wings of silence, joy and celebration,” writes Dhyan Jyoti.


Being with the Master, everything feels easy. Struggles to go upstream against the flow of life truly feel like a struggle… unlike before, where there was no recognition of how the inner weather changed when I moved against life. I am reminded of the story of Jonathan Livingston Seagull. Other seagulls in his flock were insistent on spending their lives merely foraging for food to fill their bellies. Flowing against life, living in misery, competitiveness, jealousy, and not burning life’s candle from both ends… disregarding the inner knowing, the natural wisdom that lay in their own bodies and hearts. But with Jonathan, there was an inner knowing, which kept on nudging him: “Birds are meant to fly!” For him, flying was as natural as breathing. It was written in his breath and bones.

This is how it is with Osho, with life as a sannyasin. The Master is constantly there as my inner guide, as what Sufis call the khidr, reminding me that “birds are meant to fly!” Ever so ready with his Zen stick, he tells me that it is natural to have a longing to fly. It is even more natural to simply fly. It is written in my breath and bones to fly on the wings of silence, joy and celebration.

With simply this reminder, this longing to fly in my heart, growing into its own self, life has become easier. I don’t know when I started flying, but every time I see my wings, I chuckle, I wonder, I laugh and I cry. Not to say that there aren’t any thorns in life…, but with the grace of my Beloved, they are simply there. Not being fought against (mostly) not being run away from (mostly, God forbid I become enlightened – blasphemy!), but just there, in their reality. Just like the flowers.

My heart leaps in prayer; it cries out in fullness. My beloved Osho, just keep drenching me in your rain, in your fire, in your love and in your grace.

When a cloth is dyed, it entirely changes its colour. It loses the colour it originally was. My beloved Osho, let me die into you and become the colour of you.

Osho says:

Just the other day I was reading about a Hassid mystic, Zusia. He is one of the most beautiful Hassid mystics.

He was going into the hills, and he saw many birds, caught by a man, in a cage. Zusia opened the cage — because birds are meant to fly — and all the birds flew away.

And the man came rushing out of his house and he said, ‘What have you done?’

And Zusia said, ‘Birds are meant to fly. Look how beautiful they look on the wing!’

But the man thought otherwise; he gave Zusia a good beating. His whole day’s work had been destroyed, and he had been hoping to go to the market and sell the birds, and there were many many things to be done – and now Zusia had destroyed the whole thing.

He gave him a really good beating, but Zusia was laughing, and Zusia was enjoying – and he was beating him! Then he thought this man must be mad.

And Zusia started moving. When the man had finished, Zusia asked, ‘Have you done it, or would you like to do a little more? Are you finished? because now I have to go.’ The man could not answer. What to answer? This man was simply mad! And Zusia started singing a song. He was very happy – happy that the birds were flying in the sky and happy that he was beaten and yet it didn’t hurt, happy that he could receive it as a gift, happy that he could still thank God. There was no complaint. Now, he had transformed the whole quality of the situation.

This has to be learned. Slowly slowly a man has to become so wide that all is accepted, yes, even death, only then the song bursts forth. Yes, even the darkness, only then the light arrives. The moment you have accepted the night totally and there is no seeking and hankering for the morning, the morning has come. This is how it comes, this is the way of its coming.

The Sun Rises in the Evening, Ch 6, Q 2 (excerpt)

Dhyan Jyoti

Dhyan Jyoti presently facilitates social-emotional learning and meditation sessions for young children.

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