---
section: Library
booktitle: "Glimpses of a Golden Childhood"
booktype: "Miscellaneous"
bookcode: "GLIMPS"
place: "1984in Lao Tzu House, Rajneeshpuram, USA"
chapternum: "Chapter #17"
chaptertitle: "None"
acode: "0"
shorttitle: "GLIMPS17"
audio: "No"
video: "No"
esttime: ""
displaytitle: "Glimpses of a Golden Childhood: Chapter #17"
---

```style
.sutra {
  font-style: italic;
  white-space: pre-wrap !important;
}
```
<!--This file is automatically generated. Do not edit!-->


Okay.


The first words that Ajit Saraswati uttered to me last night were, "Osho, I never expected that I would ever make it." Of course those who were present thought he was talking about coming to live in the ashram. And that too is in a way true, relevant, because I remember the first day he came to see me twenty years ago. He had had to ask permission from his wife just to see me for a few minutes. So those who were present must have understood, naturally, that he had never expected to move in, leaving his wife and children and a very good business. Renouncing all, just to be here with me... in a true sense of renunciation. But that was not what he meant, and I understood.


I said to him, "Ajit, I am also surprised. Not that I never expected it; I had always expected it, hoped and longed for this moment, and I am happy that you have come."


Again, the others must have thought I was talking about his coming here to live. I was talking about something else, but he understood. I could see it in his eyes, which have been becoming more and more childlike. I saw that he had understood what coming to a Master really means. It means coming to one's self. It cannot mean anything else other than self-realization. His smile was absolutely new.


I had been worried about him: he was becoming more serious every day. I was really concerned, because to me seriousness has always been a dirty word, a disease, something far more cancerous than cancer can ever be, and certainly far more infectious than any disease. But I breathed a great sigh of unburdening; a load disappeared from my heart.


He is one of those few people that if I had to die without them becoming enlightened, then I would have had to turn the wheel again, I would have had to be born again. Although it is impossible to turn the wheel... and I know nothing of the mechanics of turning a wheel, particularly the wheel of time. I am not a mechanic, I am not a technician, so it would have been very difficult for me to turn the wheel again... and it has not moved since I was twenty-one.


Twenty-eight years ago the wheel stopped, now everything must be rusted. Even if you poured oil on to it, it would not help. Even my sannyasins could do nothing about it  --  it is not the wheel of a Rolls Royce. It is the wheel of karma, of action, and the consciousness implied in every action. I am finished with it. But for a man like Ajit, I would have tried to come back again whatever the cost.


I am determined that I will leave this body only when at least one thousand and one of my disciples are enlightened, not before that. Raj Bharti, remember it! It is not going to be difficult  --  the basic work has been done  --  it is just a question of a little patience.


Gudia just said as I was coming in, on hearing that Ajit had become enlightened, "It is strange, enlightenment is popping up everywhere." It has to pop up everywhere, that's my work. And those one thousand and one people are almost ready to pop at any moment. Just a little breeze and the flower opens... or the first ray of the sun and the bud opens her heart to it  --  just anything. Now, what was it that helped Ajit?


In these twenty years that I have known him, I have always been loving towards him. I have never hit him  --  there has never been a need. Even before I said anything to him, he received it already. Before saying, he heard it. In these twenty years he has been following me as closely as it is possible. He is my Mahakashyapa.


What caused the thing last night? It was just because he had been thinking of me every moment. The moment he saw me, all that thinking disappeared  -- and that was the only thinking that had been surrounding him, like a cloud. And I don't think that he understood the exact meaning of his words! It takes time. And the words come so suddenly. He just said, as if in spite of himself, "I had never expected, Osho, that I would be able to make it."


I said, "Don't be worried. I was always certain it was going to happen sooner or later, but it was going to happen."


He looked a little puzzled. He was talking about coming and I was talking about happening. Then, just as if a window opened and you see  --  just like that  -- a window opened and he saw. He touched my feet with tears in his eyes and a smile on his face. To see tears and smiles mixing and merging is beautiful. It is an experience in itself.


Because of Ajit Saraswati I could not complete the story that I had begun. He had been, somehow, just around the corner for so long that I had become accustomed to him. You remember that day when I was talking of Ajit Mukherjee, the famous Tantra writer, the author of TANTRA ART and TANTRA PAINTINGS? I said  --  and you can check your notes... when I said "Ajit" I could not say "Mukherjee"... to me "Ajit" has always meant "Ajit Saraswati." So when I talked about Ajit Mukherjee, first I said "Ajit Sarasw..." then I corrected myself. I had started to say "Saraswati" and got as far as "Sarasw..." then said, "Mukherjee."


He has been, without interfering in any way, present, just around the corner, waiting, only waiting. Such trust is rare, although with me there are thousands of sannyasins with the same kind of reverence. Knowing it or not, that does not matter; what matters is the presence of reverence.


Ajit Saraswati has a Hindu background, so naturally it is easier for him to have that kind of reverence, trust. But he was educated in the West, perhaps that is why he could come close to me. A Hindu background and a western scientific mind. having these two things together is a rare phenomenon, and he is a unique man.


And, Gudia, more are to follow. Yes, they are going to pop! Here, there, and everywhere. They have to pop quickly because I don't have much time. But the sound of a man popping into existence is not the sound of pop music, it is not even classical music; it is pure music, not capable of being classified... not even to be heard but only to be felt.


Now, do you see the nonsense? I am talking of a music that has to be felt and not heard. Yes, that's what I am talking about; that's what enlightenment is. All becomes silent, as if Basho's frog had never jumped into the ancient pond... never, never... as if the pond has remained without any ripples, forever reflecting the sky, undisturbed.


This haiku of Basho is beautiful. I repeat it so many times because it is always so new, and always pregnant with a new meaning. It is for the first time that I am saying that the frog has not jumped, and there is no plop. The ancient pond is neither ancient nor new; it knows nothing of time. There are no ripples on its surface. In it you can see all the stars more glorified, more magnificent, than they are in the sky above. The depth of the pond contributes immensely to their richness. They become more of the same stuff dreams are made of.


When one pops into enlightenment, then one knows the frog had not jumped... the ancient pond was not ancient. Then one knows what is.


This is all by the way. But before I again forget... the poor story that I started yesterday. You may not have thought that I would remember it, but I can forget anything except a beautiful story. Even when I am dead, if you want me to speak, ask me something about a story, perhaps just a fable by Aesop, PANCHTANTRA, JATAKA TALES, or just the parables of Jesus.


I was saying yesterday... it all began with the metaphor "dog's death." I said that the poor dog had nothing to do with it. But there is a story behind that metaphor, and because millions of people are going to die a dog's death, it is worth understanding. Perhaps you have already heard the story. I think every child has heard it; it is so simple.


God created the world: man, woman, animals, trees, birds, mountains  --  everything. Perhaps He was a communist. Now, this is not good; at least God should not be a communist. It would not look good to be called "Comrade God": "Comrade God, how are you?" It just doesn't sound good. But the story says He gave everybody twenty years of life. Everybody was given the same. As could be expected, man immediately stood up and said, "Only twenty years? It is not enough."


That shows something about man: nothing is enough. It is never enough. Woman did not stand up. That also shows something about women. She is satisfied with small things. Her desires are very human; she is not asking for the stars. In fact she giggles at man for all his efforts to reach Everest, or the moon or Mars. She cannot understand what all this nonsense is about. Why don't we just go and see what is on television right now? As far as I know, watching television....


Ashu is looking downwards. Don't be ashamed. I am not saying anything against women watching television. I am talking about myself. I think that women only watch television for the advertisements, not for anything else; a new soap, or shampoo, or new car... the new, anything new.


In advertising everything is always new. It is really the old stuff packaged again and again. Yes, the package is new, the label is new, the name is new. But a woman is interested in a new washing machine, refrigerator or bicycle. A woman's interest is immediate.


In this story she did not stand up and say to God, "What! Only twenty years?" In fact when man stood up, the woman must have been pulling him down saying, "Sit down, man. Why are you grumbling, always grumbling? You grumpy old fellow, sit down."


But man stuck to his ground and said, "I resist in every possible way this imposition of just twenty years. More is needed."


God was at a loss. Being a communist God, what could He do? He had distributed the years equally. But the animals were more understanding than this communist fellow.


The elephant laughed and said, "Don't be worried. You can take ten years from my life, because twenty years is too long. What am I going to do with twenty years?  --  ten years will do." So man got ten years of the elephant's life. These are the years between twenty and thirty when a man behaves like an elephant. These are the years when hippies and yippies and other similar tribes are born. Everywhere in the world they should be called "the elephants"... thinking too much of themselves.


Then the lion stood up and said, "Please accept ten years from my life. For me ten years are more than enough." Between thirty and forty man roars like a lion, as if he were Alexander the Great. Even Alexander was not a real lion, so what about the others? Between thirty and forty, every man in his own way behaves like a lion.


Then the tiger stood up saying, "When everybody is contributing to poor man, then my contribution is also ten years from my life." Between forty and fifty man behaves like a tiger  --  much reduced in comparison to the lion, very much shaved, no more than a big cat, but the old habit of bragging continues.


Then up stood the horse and contributed ten years also. Between fifty and sixty a man carries all kinds of loads. He is just a horse. Not an ordinary horse either, a very extra-ordinary horse, loaded with a mountain of worries, but somehow his will is such that he pulls through, and goes on and on.


At sixty the dog contributed his ten years, and that is why it is called "a dog's death." This story is one of the most beautiful parables. Between sixty and seventy man lives like a dog, barking at everything that moves. He just finds every excuse to bark.


The story does not go beyond seventy because it was originally told before man could expect to live more than seventy years. Seventy is the conventional age. If you are a conventional man then consult a calendar and die at exactly seventy. Any more than that is a little modern. Living till eighty, ninety, or even a hundred, that is ultra-modern, that is rebellious. That is going astray.


Do you know that in America there are people frozen in tanks because they were suffering from incurable diseases. Incurable at least today  --  perhaps in twenty years' time we may have found the cure. So even though they could have lived a few more years with the disease, they decided to be frozen  --  at their own expense, remember.


In America it is always at your own expense. Even though they are frozen, almost dead, they are paying. They had to pay beforehand, in advance, for the coming twenty years, so that their bodies can be kept continuously frozen. It is, of course, an expensive affair. Only the very rich can afford it. I think the upkeep for a frozen body costs almost one thousand dollars per day. They are hoping, or rather they had hoped, that when a cure is found they could be unfrozen and brought back to life again, cured.


They are waiting  --  poor, rich fellows; there are at least a few hundred people all over America, waiting. This gives "waiting" a new meaning. This is a new kind of waiting; not breathing, and yet waiting. This is really waiting for Godot, and paying too.


The story is old, hence the proverbial seventy years. "The dog's death" simply means the death of a man who has lived like a dog. Again, don't be offended if you are a dog lover. It has nothing to do with dogs. Dogs are nice people. But "to live like a dog" means to live just for barking, enjoying the bark, shouting at each and every opportunity. Living like a dog simply means not living a human life but something subhuman, something less than human. And one who lives like a dog is bound to die like a dog.


Obviously you cannot have a death that you have not earned. I repeat: you cannot have a death that you have not earned, for which you have not been working your whole life. Death is either a punishment or a reward; it all depends on you. If you live superficially, then your death will be just a dog's death. Dogs are heady people, very intellectual. If you live intensely, intuitively, from the heart, intelligently, not intellectually; if you allow your whole being to be involved in everything you do, then you can die a god's death.


Let me coin another phrase, opposite to a "dog's death": "a god's death." As you can see, "dog" and "god" are made of the same letters, just written differently. The same stuff put backwards becomes "dog"; put rightly, becomes "god." The substance of existence, your being, is the same; whether you stand on your head or your feet it does not matter. In one way it matters; if you stand on your head you will suffer. And if you start walking on your head, then you can visualize yourself to be in the seventh hell. But you can jump up and stand on your feet  --  there is nobody preventing you!


This has been my whole teaching: Jump up! Don't do a headstand. Stand on your feet, be natural! Then you will be living like a god. And, of course, a god dies like a god. He lives like a god, and dies like a god. And by god, I mean simply a master of one's self.
			

> [!info]
> Copyright 1964-1990 Osho (Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh)
>