The first thing Osho said to me was that the revolution is inside of myself. Having miraculously survived a 3rd-class un-air-conditioned Indian train journey, I nearly lost my mind when I came to know that the only available transportation between this rural train stop and Osho was a bullock cart…no shit, except, from the bullock which upon first breath hid the smells from the train with welcomed relief. I don’t know the exact location because I arrived by train from Bombay and thus saw nothing but Indians by the dozen on all four sides of my immediate circumference…yes I can remember the smell and my desire to die immediately and nothing else. As I jumped onto the train, Osho got there first in his pre-Rolls Royce, pre-historic Chevrolet.
He was already bigger than his apartment and this desert was to be the beginning of his first ashram. Back in ’73 Osho’s official residence was an apartment in the Woodlands Building in Bombay. In this very moment, it was just him and me in his one-room home in the desert in the middle of Nowhere, India. Imagine if you will that I am 29, miserable and angry, sitting in front of a beaming Osho for the very first time…I so wanted to crawl under my orange pyjamas (standard outfit before the maroon robe of now became the fashion), and disappear to get away from his attention.
My body age at the time was 29 years old, and I have now attained the ripe age of 38 as an Osho sannyasin you do the math! I certainly can’t imagine how many more blog entries this bloke has left in his being but for now, I feel like reminiscing…. On February 14th, 1973 I met the love of my life his name at the time was Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh, known today to his beloveds worldwide as Osho. Celebrated all over the world as a day for lovers.
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