is simply that—continuous whirling round and round on one spot for an hour. I give it a go—with my sister I’d seen the whirling dervishes in London and been spellbound by them—but it makes me nauseous, so I have to accept it is not for me.
Later in this month (October 1974), happily for me the lovely Kundalini Meditation replaces Whirling. It comprises a first stage of shaking for fifteen minutes—allowing the whole body to vigorously tremble—followed by fifteen minutes of movement, of dance. For the next fifteen minutes you either stand or sit. This is followed by a fourth stage of lying down. Having hammered the sex center in the morning, we have now, it seems, been trying to arouse the energy, kundalini, which lies at the base of the spine.
Though it’s much gentler that Dynamic—in fact it’s known as its “sister meditation”—like that method, Kundalini is one of Osho’s “active meditations.” He has specially designed these active techniques for Westerners because, unlike for our Eastern counterparts, sitting still and silent doesn’t come naturally to us. Our busy minds and restless bodies make it challenging to drop into the inner space of an unmoving, vast, peacefulness; first we need to release all our mental and physical tensions.
I have my fair share of those! My family is speedy and I’m chronically tense—although up until meeting Osho I have not been aware of it. A few months before coming to India I’d started practicing the traditional Buddhist method called vipassana. It’s very passive—just sitting, eyes closed, from inside observing your breath coming in and going out. After 20 minutes or so of trying this I’d begin to feel panicked… feeling as if the silence and stillness were going to suffocate me. I had to get up and do—do anything! Remarkably, years later I would be able to sit, unmoving, in Osho’s discourse for ninety plus minutes, and not only sit still but not want to leave at the end. A minor miracle! Listening to his discourses is to become the deepest experience of meditation ever for me.
*
Within my first few weeks or so, I feel very much at home in the ashram. I slip easily into the routine of morning discourse and meditations, eating Indian vegetarian food, and wearing the long orange robes (how beautiful we look: men and women all longhaired, the men with luxurious beards).
The orange of our robes, says Osho, represents the rising of the morning sun, a new beginning. And the fact that we are all dressed in orange robes helps to create a feeling of harmony, of oneness. As for what sannyas is beyond the outer trappings of robe and mala, Osho describes it in various ways: a decision to grow, a jump into the unknown; a seeking for the essential; a living moment to moment, with totality; an inner celebration and “not something very serious!”
The old, traditional sannyas here in India involves renouncing the world; Osho’s “neo sannyas” is just the opposite. It’s about a total embracing of life and it’s “the desire to make meditation one’s whole lifestyle.
“The real sannyasin,” he says, “is bringing meditation to the ordinary affairs of life, bringing meditation to the marketplace. Eating, walking, sleeping, one can remain continuously in a state of meditation. It is nothing special that you are doing but doing the same things with a new way, with a new method, with new art. Sannyas changes your outlook.”
Becoming a sannyasin means a person becomes “an insider, part of my family,” as Osho puts it:
The whole energy of other sannyasins will be totally different and things will happen faster. Otherwise you remain an outsider, a visitor, and a subtle barrier continues to exist. Even in the groups it will be there; in meditations it will be there. Nobody wants it to be there, but it is natural. So once you are in orange and a sannyasin, things change, things move faster. The very gesture of taking sannyas breaks something in you. Something melts. It is a gesture of trust. You trust me more and I can work deeper and easily.
I personally am relieved to hear that being a sannyasin is not about being a follower. “Let the difference be absolutely clear,” Osho says:
Sannyas is not following me. Sannyas is just being with me, in my presence. Sannyas is not imitating me. Sannyas is just to be with me to follow your own destiny. I am here to help you to be yourself. Sannyas is just a trust; it is not a belief. I don’t promise you anything.
*
One evening I am able to have a second darshan—sitting with others, sannyasins and visitors, to ask Osho any questions we might have. When my turn comes I tell him that once, during the Kundalini Meditation, images of my childhood rapidly passed through my mind—disconnected scenes, like bits and pieces of a jigsaw. “Allow it; it is good,” he comments; “the past is dropping.”
A couple of weeks later in darshan Osho invites me to “become part of the ashram.” Other sannyasins will later tell me how lucky I am, but “I can’t,” I quickly explain to Osho now. “My father in Australia is looking forward to seeing me and I don’t want to let him down.”
“So you go there,” Osho says, then pauses. “How long will it take? Two weeks?”
“Oh, no, more than that!”
“Six weeks?” he suggests.
“Not as long as that!” I exclaim, and he chuckles.
“Okay, you go and come back. A few blocks are there, but you go and come back. Good, Maneesha”… and he leans forward to touch my bent head.
I go to Mumbai to confirm my onward flight for three weeks hence. Yet curiously, over the next few days—unasked for, uninvited—a sense of absolute at-homeness here begins to fill me. Australia now feels like a home only in name: if home is where the heart is, then I have found it here in the ashram. A letter to Osho telling him about how I feel elicits another darshan. He asks that, if I stay won’t I be thinking of Australia? I assure him no, I want to be here now.
He looks at me silently for a moment, then says, “So good, you stay, mm?”
Having moved into the ashram, I try to compose a letter to my parents explaining why I am not returning after all. It is the most difficult task I have ever undertaken. I can’t explain to myself why I feel as I do; I just know this is where I belong. Knowing my decision will create hurt, still, this is what I want to do and I must write something by way of explanation.
In her reply, my mother chastises me for the pain my letter has caused my father; she tells me I have broken his heart. I adore my father and yet there is such a strong knowing that I have made the only decision I could. His love really is of the kind that only wants what gives me joy, regardless of any other feelings that he might have. In the letters he and I exchange over the following years there is never a hint of reproach, no mention of heartbreak from him. His only questions are only ever around my being well and happy. A lesson in love for me. If I have not yet learned to “love wisely,” my father has.
Chapter 2: Experiments with Meditation
There are going to be three categories of sannyasins. One … will take short-term sannyas … will meditate and go through some kind of spiritual discipline at some secluded place and then return to their old lives. The second category will be of those who will take sannyas, but remain wherever they are. They will continue to be in their occupations as before, but they will now be actors and not doers, and they will also be witnesses to life and living. …The last category of sannyasins will live in meditation and carry the message of meditation to those who are thirsty for it. ~ Osho
Until six years ago or so, Osho has been traveling around India. Then in
