The Sun Rises in the Evening ~ 10
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|date & time||20 Jun 1978 am|
|location||Buddha Hall, Poona|
|audio||Available, duration 1h 31min. Quality: good.|
|online text||find the PDF of this discourse|
- Reader of the questions: n/a; questions are being read by Osho himself.
- Question 1 from Chinmaya
- The West has given birth to Aristotle, Nietzsche, Heidegger, Camus, Berdyaev, Marcel and Sartre. Is it going to give birth to Buddhas by itself or is a communion with the Eastern consciousness needed?
- Question 2
- I have always dreamt of becoming a world-famous man, rich and successful. Osho, can you help me in the fulfilment of my desire?
- Question 3 from Champak
- Is the ego still working when I feel joy and contentment?
- Question 4 from Krishna Prem
- You say we need only declare our own enlightenment to ourselves, but what about the gap, the discontinuity, the quantum leap, the death and the rebirth? Is the declaration a device -- a way of creating the effect for the cause to follow? Is this an acceptance of enlightenment with a small 'e', knowing that one day the big 'E' will come in a sudden flash of lightning? Confused, confused.
- Question 5 from Nirvesh
- In surrendering to you, am I surrendering to myself?
- Question 6 from Nirupam
- Osho, you have said that all the meditations should be dropped. Because of your blessings, so many beautiful experiences have been attained. Meditating on that inner blue-green flame, even in that flame I see your eyes, your face, your whole being. It feels as if the whole existence is pouring into me. Then again it becomes meditation on you. These blissful moments come and go -- I have no control over them. Even so, should I try to drop this? Is this also a meditation? Please explain.
- Question 7 from Divya
- This morning, I sit tall before you at discourse. A kind of defiance rushes through my veins and throbs with a rumbling rivering of fire. The words 'courage' and 'dignity' well up in me, congealing into a silently exploding, roaring cry. Tears stream down my face and my chest heaves under the piercing painfulness of centuries of sobs. I keep looking at you directly, with a kind of will willing beyond its own wilfulness. A crescendo of undreamt-of intensity possesses me with a sort of emotion all at once soaring into an imploring prayer. I imagine raising my empty fists at the winds above a mountain top, at thunder, and at the blackness of the dark. A desire so great that it cannot find an object, all urging so strong that I cannot deny it, reverberates within the masses of my soul, and I keep looking, without anger, without fear, proud but not-proud, knowing but not-knowing, and I know you know. My naked soul faces the enormity of your being with the power of its own helplessness. Your eyes understanding, emanate volts of light into my heart making the painful burning yearning even more... and then... you enter without sound, with the softness of a petal dropping through a brilliant summer sky.
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