Like a flute played by some invisible hands

While traveling in India, Osho likes to stay at Sohan’s home when He is in Poona. I never want to miss this opportunity of being with Him at Sohan’s home. Sohan is madly in love with Osho and His people. Her home becomes like a place of pilgrimage while Osho is staying there. Hundreds of people visit it every day and she welcomes everyone with such love and tenderness that many people can’t control their overflowing tears of joy. In the afternoon it is like a great feast. Every visitor is offered sweets, snacks and tea. Osho also comes out of His room and sits on the sofa in the living room surrounded by lots of friends. His presence and invisible fragrance is very tangible in the atmosphere.

There is always lots of laughter around Him. He enjoys teasing children. Any question tossed to Him, the smallest grain of a question, and the answer comes like a sprouted lush foliage from His silence. His voice is so musical and soothing, I really don’t care about listening to His words. His words work like a bridge connecting me with His inner vast emptiness. Sometimes I feel Him like a flute played by some invisible hands. His depth and his height are beyond our reach. He is flying like an eagle, alone in the vast sky and we are creeping on the earth like little worms, looking at Him and crying for help. He is amazing; without saying a word He listens to the hearts who are longing for Him and allows them to quench their thirst from His eternal waters of life.

Thank you beloved master. For me you are a perfectly opened lotus. I can’t do anything but rejoice, dance and sing a song in your presence.

Chapter 32

One Hundred Tales for Ten Thousand Buddhas - Ma Dharm Jyoti

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