Ojas’s story, translated from the Dutch collection ‘Hoe Osho in mijn leven kwam’ (How Osho Came into My Life), compiled by Nandan Bosma et. al.
Swami Deva Ojas
(‘Divine Energy’)
Born in 1937 in Waalwijk, The Netherlands
Received sannyas in 1977
When I first met Osho – or when the Master found me, it makes little difference – I was no longer a blank slate. I had already been walking this earth for forty years and had undergone various transformations. But my fundamental questions about life had remained the same – and had remained unanswered.
I was looking for a solution to the pain and suffering in this world – the Second World War had left me bewildered – and because I wanted to start living in truth and love, I became a Franciscan fryar in 1955 at 18, but I found no answer to my questions there.
My search gained momentum in 1969 when I saw the iconic picture of Earthrise, taken by an Apollo 8 astronaut from lunar orbit. Suddenly my heart opened for our planet Earth, our real home in the cosmos! It was surprising and shocking and I knew I had to change my way of thinking and life.
From that moment on I found it increasingly difficult to accept that the solution had to come from a God who lived far away, and from a ‘hereafter’ from which no one had ever returned. That ‘hereafter’ had to become a ‘herenow’. After all, were we not living here and now?
It was time we rolled up our sleeves and got to doing the work ourselves. This last I was going to be granted soon enough… because, owing to my unorthodox views, in 1972 I had to leave the order and I then started working for the government, in education.
I was offered a job at what was then the Ministry of CRM (Culture, Recreation and Social Work), as the national secretary for community and emancipation among minority groups. A job I threw myself into with heart and soul, whilst at the same time losing my heart to an American concert pianist. A complete turnaround, yet I still wasn’t finding a satisfactory answer to my deeper questions about life…
That changed unexpectedly when, in 1976, I first came into contact with Osho’s Dynamic Meditation. It happened at the Kosmos in Amsterdam. That experience opened up a completely new perspective on the questions that were burning inside me. An entirely new energy was released. I got the chance to scream out my feelings in the second stage while at the same time remaining conscious and keeping my body firmly on the ground.
I can still picture myself there in my neat blue suit. But the intense life force and energy that were released in me, brought relief and joy and – when everyone suddenly stopped and fell silent – a deep, intense stillness too. Then, along with everyone else, dancing in stillness. Enjoying. No more questions. Being clearly present.
In the days that followed I noticed at work that I’d changed. I felt wonderfully happy and strong, could respond with real alertness, and was keenly aware of what I was thinking and feeling. It was as if I’d taken a step back within myself and could observe myself and others more clearly.
This stayed with me, and I felt I had to explore it further. At the same time, I also felt a huge sense of resistance, because I didn’t want to give up my comfortable job and life.
Out of curiosity, and also because I felt like a homing pigeon longing to return home, the following year I asked my boss at the ministry for leave so that I could visit Poona. It was granted, and my first meeting with Osho in Lao Tzu hall was overwhelming. Everything in me got stirred up.
Memories of ancient esoteric traditions, forgotten initiations and severe ordeals came to the surface. An old text from the Gospel, too: “The bridegroom, the bridegroom is here,” I began to shout, “It’s time to celebrate!” The small group present urged me to be quiet, but Osho just smiled.
A few days later I became a sannyasin, and his disciple. It was on 28 May 1977, my mother’s birthday. Osho gave me the name Deva Ojas, which means ‘divine energy’.
As I could only stay for two weeks, Osho suggested I do a few groups in addition to the daily meditations. ‘Centering’ was one of them, I remember. And also a group with Somendra, where everyone immediately took off their clothes. For the last two days I’d been given a Tantra group as well, which I couldn’t finish because halfway through I had to take the plane back. I was, however, allowed to come to darshan on the Friday evening and ask any questions I might have.
Strangely enough, I had no questions left. Somehow the old questions had burned out. But as I sat in front of Osho, what was on my mind at that moment came out unexpectedly:
“I’m living in two crazy worlds. When I think of my work and the experiences I’ve had here, I cannot find a bridge between the two. I’ve tried to find you in me so that you are with me when I go, but I can’t… I can’t find you!”
Then, “I’m confused. There are moments I think, ‘No, I have to give up my job, I have to stay here.’ The ties with my past are so strong. I don’t know what to do.”
Osho smiled, and then something wonderful happened. He was handed a small torch; he switched it on and asked me to look into the little light. I was perplexed. Such an existential problem, and then to be asked to stare into a little torch? But the effect was that for a moment I lost control and clearly realised that the ashram was my safe haven.
Osho switched the torch off, looked at me and said, “Good! Then you finish things and come back. Come and be here.” 1 And from deep in my heart came “YIPPEE!” and “YES!” And Osho asked Ma Yoga Laxmi to sort out everything for me.
Back home I talked everything over with my girlfriend, and the following Monday I went to the office as usual, wearing an orange corduroy suit and my mala. I was nervous, and curious how my colleagues would react, but there were no reactions. Too busy? Shy? Not knowing what to say? No idea. But it helped me to simply pick up my work where I had left off. There was so much to do! And after a few weeks everything went back to its usual routine, and I was glad to be able to forget all about India.
But that became increasingly difficult. I often talked about it with my girlfriend. Should we perhaps give up everything and go to Poona together? In the summer of 1977 I resigned from my job at the ministry and received, as a farewell gift, the right to return within two years (which I never took).
In November we gave our household goods away to friends and set off for the Shree Rajneesh Ashram in Poona. We felt like students of life, disciples of a unique Master, and we were going to live and work in his new, secular mystery school. It was all very idealistic: we threw ourselves into a grand, utopian project.
My first darshan, though, was an instant Zen stick on my head. Osho asked me what I wanted to do: work in the ashram or do therapy groups. I remember, my answer was a slow, hesitant “I think…” But he answered immediately, “Stop thinking.” It was as if the ground had given way beneath me. How do you do that? When I began another answer to a question of his with ‘I think…’ again, everyone laughed. Osho then invited me to come and work in the kitchen. My girlfriend was going to work there too.
The very next morning… I’ll never forget that moment. Not long before, I’d been sitting behind a desk, neatly dressed as a creative, well-paid civil servant with a secretary, and now I was trying to find my way to my new workplace amid the din of shrieking ma’s and the clatter of falling pots and pans. Ma Deeksha, who was in charge, came waddling over to us and pointed to a big tub of enormous, filthy cooking pots. I could start with those…
After a few days I was assigned a spot just outside the kitchen where used cups were delivered in wheelbarrows throughout the day. I had to wash those cups and place them on racks so that they could be collected again, clean. Almost always on my own, sometimes with assistance on busy days. That would be my permanent workstation for two years.
It would certainly be the place where my thinking would stop and I’d become free of the ‘mind’ and all the suffering that goes with it. That, at least, was what I thought. But I didn’t succeed. Every day I gave myself a pep talk: I’ll try again tomorrow. Even if it’s only for a single minute. Surely that can be done. But the harder I tried, the harder I worked at it, the more I exhausted myself… The thinking kept hammering in my head. And became a monster.
On 6 April 1978, Deeksha came and said I’d be getting a darshan that evening for my birthday. Straight home, a quick wash-up and ready for a meeting with Osho in Lao Tzu. I’d have the chance to ask him how to stop my thoughts.
But the moment my name was called out, I couldn’t bring myself to ask that one question, and started on something else. Osho kept looking at me questioningly though. And then it came out like a volcanic eruption, “I can’t stop thinking!” No surprise or irritation in Osho’s face. He just smiled and I heard him say, “If you can’t stop thinking, just play with your thoughts.”
And then it happened! My thoughts, right there! My frustrations, my fears, my convictions and principles, my judgements and condemnations. They were there and could be seen. They became visible to me like little floats bobbing on water. No connection to them, yet I was clearly present. I was there as the observer – clear, gentle, fully present, here and now. My body made a deep bow to Osho, full of gratitude, and I returned to my seat.
After that, life in the ashram was very different for a while. A reversal of perspective had taken place. Reality was perceived differently, no longer from the outside but from within. I’d been handed a key to being present in a new way. My thoughts simply carried on, but they no longer came between me and whatever I was doing.
When I was washing my cups I could lose myself in it, the way a small child can lose himself in his toys. I was aware of my thoughts, and at the same time saw what nonsense my mind produced all day long. And how much unnecessary suffering resulted from it. I could laugh about it. After all, I no longer had to take it seriously; I was allowed to play with my thoughts.
The fear I’d had beforehand – that I wouldn’t be able to function properly – also turned out to be unfounded. Because there was so much less noise in my head, I was actually able to work very efficiently. And when there were only routine tasks to do, I could also gently and attentively follow the processes taking place in my head, only to return, a little later, to putting my heart and soul into the one thing I had to do at that moment: washing cups. And to discover the deepest truth within it. And a love for life just as it is.
Fortunately, once I’d stumbled upon this truth, I was able to savour it for a few weeks. A few weeks, because after that it became just a concept again. But at the same time, this awareness has never completely left my life and can now be experienced with increasing ease… almost every moment.
Amsterdam, 10 October 2011
Ojas Th. de Ronde
Source
- Osho, The Further Shore (darshan diary), Ch 16, 18 June 1977
This piece is part of a collection of stories written by Dutch sannyasins:
Hoe Osho in mijn leven kwam
(How Osho Came into My Life)
compiled by Nandan Bosma et. al.
Stichting Vrienden van Osho, Amsterdam
vrienden-van-osho.nl – sannyas.wiki
2013 and 2019 editions, 236 pages
Available as a paperback from boekenbestellen.nl
Comments are closed.