Guaranteed

"On bended knee is no way to be free
lifting up an empty cup I ask silently
that all my destinations will accept the one that's me
so I can breath

Circles they grow and they swallow people whole
half their lives they say goodnight to wive's they'll never know
got a mind full of questions and a teacher in my soul
so it goes...

Don't come closer or I'll have to go
Holding me like gravity are places that pull
If ever there was someone to keep me at home
It would be you...

Everyone I come across in cages they bought
they think of me and my wandering
but I'm never what they thought
got my indignation but I'm pure in all my thoughts
I'm alive...

Wind in my hair, I feel part of everywhere
underneath my being is a road that disappeared
late at night I hear the trees
they're singing with the dead
overhead...

Leave it to me as I find a way to be
consider me a satelite for ever orbiting
I knew all the rules but the rules did not know me
guaranteed..."


Eddie Vedder

Se A Alma Lhe Näo Secou

"Em Portalegre, cidade
Do Alto Alentejo, cercada
De serras, ventos, penhascos, oliveiras e sobreiros
Morei numa casa velha,
Velha, grande, tosca e bela
À qual quis como se fora
Feita para eu morar nela...

Cheia dos maus e bons cheiros
Das casas que têm história,
Cheia da ténue, mas viva, obsidiante memória
De antigas gentes e traças,
Cheia de sol nas vidraças
E de escuro nos recantos,
Cheia de medo e sossego,
De silêncios e de espantos,
- Quis-lhe bem como se fora
Tão feita ao gosto de outrora
Como ao do meu aconchego.

Em Portalegre, cidade
Do Alto Alentejo, cercada
De montes e de oliveiras
Do vento soão queimada,
( Lá vem o vento soão!,
Que enche o sono de pavores,
Faz febre, esfarela os ossos,
Dói nos peitos sufocados,
E atira aos desesperados
A corda com que se enforcam
Na trave de algum desvão...)
Em Portalegre, dizia,
Cidade onde então sofria
Coisas que terei pudor
De contar seja a quem for,
Na tal casa tosca e bela
À qual quis como se fora
Feita para eu morar nela,
Tinha, então,
Por única diversão,
Uma pequena varanda
Diante de uma janela.

Toda aberta ao sol que abrasa,
Ao frio que tosse, gela,
E ao vento que anda, desanda,
E sarabanda, e ciranda
De redor da minha casa,
Em Portalegre, cidade
Do Alto Alentejo, cercada
De serras, ventos, penhascos oliveiras e sobreiros
Era uma bela varanda,
Naquela bela janela!

Serras deitadas nas nuvens,
Vagas e azuis da distância,
Azuis, cinzentas, lilases,
Já roxas quando mais perto,
Campos verdes e amarelos,
Salpicados de oliveiras,
E que o frio, ao vir, despia,
Rasava, unia
Num mesmo ar de deserto
Ou de longínquas geleiras,
Céus que lá em cima, estrelados,
Boiando em lua, ou fechados
Nos seus turbilhões de trevas,
Pareciam engolir-me
Quando, fitando-os suspenso
Daquele silêncio imenso,
Eu sentia o chão a fugir-me,
- Se abriam diante dela
Daquela
Bela
Varanda
Daquela
Minha
Janela,
Em Portalegre, cidade
Do Alto Alentejo, cercada
De serras, ventos, penhascos, oliveiras e sobreiros
Na casa em que morei, velha,
Cheia dos maus e bons cheiros
Das casas que têm história,
Cheia da ténue, mas viva, obsidiante memória
De antigas gentes e traças,
Cheia de sol nas vidraças
E de escuro nos recantos,
Cheia de medo e sossego,
De silêncios e de espantos,
À qual quis como se fora
Tão feita ao gosto de outrora
Como as do meu aconchego...

Ora agora,
Que havia o vento soão
Que enche o sono de pavores,
Faz febre, esfarela os ossos,
Dói nos peitos sufocados,
E atira aos desesperados
A corda com que se enforcam
Na trave de algum desvão,
Que havia o vento soão
De se lembrar de fazer?
Em Portalegre, dizia,
Cidade onde então sofria
Coisas que terei pudor
De contar seja a quem for,
Que havia o vento soão
De fazer,
Senão trazer
Àquela
Minha
Varanda
Daquela
Minha
Janela
O testemunho maior 
De que Deus
É protector
Dos seus
Que mais faz sofrer?

Lá num craveiro, que eu tinha,
Onde uma cepa cansada
Mal dava cravos sem vida,
Poisou qualquer sementinha
Que o vento que anda, desanda,
E sarabanda, e ciranda,
Achara no ar perdida,
Errando entre terra e céus...,
E, louvado seja Deus!,
Eis que uma folha miudinha
Rompeu, cresceu, recortada,
Furando a cepa cansada
Que dava cravos sem vida
Naquela
Bela
Varanda
Daquela
Minha
Janela
Da tal casa tosca e bela
Á qual quis como se fora
Feita para eu morar nela...

Como é que o vento soão
Que enche o sono de pavores,
Faz febre, esfarela os ossos,
Dói nos peitos sufocados,
E atira aos desesperados
A corda com que se enforcam
Na trave de algum desvão,
Me trouxe a mim que, dizia,
Em Portalegre sofria
Coisas que terei pudor
De contar seja a quem for,
Me trouxe a mim essa esmola,
Esse pedido de paz
Dum Deus que fere... e consola
Com o próprio mal que faz?

Coisas que terei pudor
De contar seja a quem for
Me davam então tal vida
Em Portalegre, cidade
Do Alto Alentejo, cercada
De serras, ventos, penhascos, oliveiras e sobreiros,
Me davam então tal vida
- Não vivida!, mas morrida
No tédio e no desespero,
No espanto e na solidão -
Que a corda dos derradeiros
Desejos dos desgraçados
Por noites do vento soão
Já varias vezes tentara
Meus dedos verdes suados...

Senão quando o amor de Deus
Ao vento que anda, desanda,
E sarabanda, e ciranda,
Confia uma sementinha
Perdida entre terra e céus,
E o vento a trás à varanda
Daquela
Minha
Janela
Da tal casa tosca e bela
À qual quis como se fora
Feita para eu morar nela!

Lá no craveiro que eu tinha,
Onde uma cepa cansada
Mal dava cravos sem vida,
Nasceu essa acàciazinha
Que depois foi transplantada
E cresceu; dom do meu Deus!,
Aos pés lá da estranha casa
Do largo do cemitério,
Frente aos ciprestes que em frente
Mostram os céus,
Como dedos apontados
De gigantes enterrados...

Quem desespera dos homens,
Se a alma lhe não secou,
A tudo transfere a esperança
Que a humanidade frustrou:
E é capaz de amar as plantas,
De esperar nos animais,
De humanizar coisas brutas,
E ter criancices tais,
Tais e tantas!,
Que será bom ter pudor
De as contar seja a quem for.

O amor, a amizade, e quantos
Sonhos de cristal sonhara,
Bens deste mundo, que o mundo
Me levara,
De tal maneira me tinham,
Ao fugir-me,
Deixando só, nulo, atónito,
A mim, que tanto esperara
Ser fiel,
E forte,
E firme,
Que não era mais que morte
A vida que então vivia,
Auto-cadáver...

E era então que sucedia
Que em Portalegre, cidade
Do Alto Alentejo, cercada
De serras, ventos, penhascos, oliveiras e sobreiros
Aos pés lá da casa velha
Cheia dos maus e bons cheiros
Das casas que têm história,
Cheia da ténue, mas viva, obsidiante memória
De antigas gentes e traças,
Cheia de sol nas vidraças
E de escuro nos recantos,
Cheia de medo e sossego,
De silêncios e de espantos,
- A minha acácia crescia.

Vento soão!, obrigado
Pela doce companhia
Que em teu hálito empestado,
Sem eu sonhar, me chegava!
E a cada raminho novo
Que a tenra acácia deitava,
Será loucura!..., mas era
Uma alegria
Na longa e negra apatia
Daquela miséria extrema
Em que eu vivia,
E vivera,
Como se fizera um poema,
Ou se um filho me nascera."


José Régio

The Only Answer

"Unless you ask the real question how can any answer help? But the real question is not an intelectual thing, let me tell you, that real question is "Who am I?". All other questions are just formulations of this basic question. 

Somebody asks what is God, but that is not a real question. If you don't know yourself how are you supposed to know God? Somebody asks "Who created the world?" but that is meaningless. You don't even know how you came to existence, what to say about the world? First try to solve your own mystery. Encounter it. So the basic question of all questions is "Who am I?"? How to answer it? Can somebody else answer it for you? That is not possible. How can I say who you are if you can not say it yourself, how can I say who you are? Whatsoever I say will again become information in the head."

"Now the trouble arises because Budha, Jesus, Krishna, me, we all go on saying: "You are a God.". The answer is right but you are not at the point where you can catch it. You are not ready for it. The more you look into yourself, the more you feel yourself to be like a dog rather than a God."

"Rather than thinking that you are a God, you create Gods in your own image. No, if I say that you are a God, this answer won't help - you will have to find your own answer.

The question is existential; you will need an existential answer. The question is out of your being; only out of your being can the real answer come. You will have to go deep inside yourself. First ask: "Who am I?". Ask "Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?". Let this question penetrate into every fibre and cell of your body ad your mind. Let your whole body mind vibrate with the question "Who am I?". It will take months, sometimes years, but it pays. Let your whole being vibrate with one question: "Who am I?". Let this question sink do deep that whatsoever you are doing the question remains vibrating deep down "Who am I?". Walking, eating, talking, listening, the question goes on pulsating deep, deep down "Who am I? Who am I". By and by the question will not be verbal, it will be just a feeling - "Who am I?" not verbal, not these words, "Who am I?". It will be just a question mark in your being, just a questioning, a quest.

And then one day, when your total being is so full of the question that your whole being has become a question-mark, the answer comes. It will not be verbal, it will not be somebody saying "Listen, Tushita" - the question is from Tushita - "Listen, Tushita". Nobody will say that. Suddenly something will explode, as a seed explodes, as a bud opens. And you will be full of the fragrance. When you open your eyes all questioning has disappeared, all problems have disappeared. Then you live the life of no problems. And only then will you live, only the will you be. Then everything is a benediction. Each breath is a blessing - and all, all is nirvana, all is God.

That is what is needed deep down in you, Tushita. You ask "I would like you to answer me, to tell me something, but I don't know the question." It is good that you don't know, because if you know the question it is bound to be the wrong thing. This is the question. But don't use it as a question because the answer is not going to come from the outside the answer is hidden in the question itself. The question is a seed, the outermost core of the answer is the hidden tree in the seed. Take the question as a seed and become the soil for it. A "skullfull" soil will do, your head becomes the soil - that is what I call "skullfull" soil. Only one question, only one question, only one question - you become pregnant with the question. And the pregnancy becomes so deep, that you cannot forget it in any moment. Even while you are sleeping it will be there. Even in your sleep, in your dream, the question will continue - "Who am I?" not so much in words, remember - again an repeat, not so much in words - but the question will be there, "Who am I?" pulsating, streaming, moving, moving deeper and deeper and deeper. And one day it reaches to the very core, it hits your heart, the inner space, the heart space. And then something opens. If you can ask rightly within your own being, you will come to the right answer. And that is the only answer - the one you come to yourself."

Osho - Tao: The Pathless Path II

Can't You Trust Life?

"How to live for nine months? You lived well, you did well, perfectly well - otherwise you would not have been there. And there was no yoga teacher to teach you to be in a certain posture, to teach you how to breathe, how to do Pranayama and Pratyahar, and which Asana will be the best. You didn't ask anybody. There was nobody to ask. You lived in the womb naturally and you grew. God was taking care, the whole was taking care, everything was provided. Then you were born and then you became a child - you did not ask how to breathe, how to walk, how to talk. Everything came by and by. Can't you trust life? One day you became a young man, youth came, and love started arising in your being. One day you will become old, life will start disappearing, and then one day death will come and the circle will be complete. 

Why are you always trying to interfere? Tao says you should be in Wu-Wei, non-interference. Let the whole do things. This is a very radical attitude, this is the greatest revolutionary attitude ever. "How?" is very childish. Yoga is for children, Tao is for grown-ups. So don't ask: but then how is one to live before becoming enlightened? Just live. And just living, I tell you, is fantastic. It is far out!"

Osho - Tao: The Pathless Path II

Nothing Is Going To Happen Ever

"Nothing is going to happen ever. Drop waiting, start being. Waiting is a thought process, being is existential. Live, live as much as you can, as intensely as you can, as passionately as you can. And through that passionate love for life, through that flame of authentic living, something burns down in you: the ego. And when the ego is burnt down, something happens. That happening has nothing to do with your effort. It comes. It is a happening."

Osho - Tao: The Pathless Path II

The Eye Of The Storm

"Yes, it will become more clear in a relationship because when you are alone you don't have any mirror. Just as you need a mirror to see your faceso you need the mirror of relationship to see your being. Love functions as a mirror, it shows you where you are, what you are, who you are. Hence any people become afraid of relationship. They are cowards. They escape to the Himalayas or to Tibet or to the monasteries or to the caves. Why are they escaping and from what? They are escaping from mirrors. I have heard about an ugly woman who would never look in a mirror because she used to think that the mirrors were against her. These are you mahatmas. They escape from relationship because relationship shows their ugliness, relationship shows where they are, who they are. Sitting in their caves in the Himalays they feel perfectly beautiful because there is no mirror.

 

Never escape from relationship. That's why I have introduced sannyas with relationship, not without it. There is great meaning in it. Never on the earth has sannyas existed with relationship, that's why I say that sannyas has not really existed or, the sannyas that has previously existed was anaemic, bloodless. People thought they were beautiful without the mirror they thought they were beautiful. It is very easy to befool yourself when the mirror is not there. When you are in relationship with people, in a thousand and one ways you are provoked, challenged, seduced. Again and again you come to know your pitfalls, your limitations, your anger, your lust, your possessiveness, your jealousy, your sadness, your happiness all moods come and go, you are constantly in a turmoil. But this is the only way to know who you are.

 

Self-knowledge is not the knowledge of a dead self, self-knowledge is the knowledge of the process of the self. It is an alive phenomenon. The self is not a thing, it is an event it is a process. Never think in terms of things the self is not there inside you just like a thing waiting in a room. The self is a process: changing, moving, arriving at new altitudes, moving into new planes, going deeper into new depths. Each moment much work is going on and the only way to encounter this self is to encounter it in relationship.

 

Love is the mirror. Let your meditation be mirrored in love. If you find that something is missing, meditate more - but never escape from love; let it be mirrored in love again and again, because that will be the only criterion of whether you are growing or not. If you are really growing in love soon you will see that love has remained and jealousy has disappeared; love has remained and possessiveness has disappeared. A great purity arises, a great innocence. A fragrance is released into your soul. Go on meditating and go on loving. Let love and meditation be two things. Let them help each other.

 

I  am showing you a path which is arduous, which is really arduous. Love alone is good because there is nothing to reflect, meditation alone is simples because there is no mirror to reflect, but meditation and love together... I am throwing you into the very eye of the storm. But that is the only way one comes home.

And when things become silent after the storm, the silence is alive, it is not the dead silence of a cemetery."

Osho - Tao: The Pathless Path Vol. II

The Real Thing Is To Receive The Truth

"Why has there never been a single woman enlightened master?

A woman cannot be a master - it is not possible. When a woman arrives she becomes a mistress, not a master. The fulfilment of a woman is love. Mastery is not the goal of the feminine mind; they don't become masters, they become mistresses. To be a master is basically a male effort. Awareness is the way of man, love is the way of woman.

On the path of awareness it is possible to teach; one can become a master. On the path of love, how can one teach love? You can flower, you can bloom in love, but how can you teach it? Yes, if somebody wants to learn from you he will learn it but you will not be a master.

(...)

She sings the song of the glory of her lord, she dances. If somebody can catch something from her, it is overflowing; but she cannot be a teacher. She is surrendered, her surrender is absolute. Yes, if you are in her company, you will learn what surrender is... But you will have to learn, she will not teach.

(...)

A man can become a good master. A woman can become a good disciple because to become a disciple means to become a receiver, to be receptive, to become a womb. To become a master means to become a giver.

(...)

Biologically, a woman is ready to receive the sperm of the man she loves. The man cannot become a mother, he can only become a father.

(...)

When a woman comes to a master she is already ready to surrender.

(...)

All the great disciples in the world were women.

Buddha had thousand of disciples, but the proportion has always been the same: three women, one man. So was the proportion with Mahavir.

(...)

And so was the case with Jesus.

The really devoted people around him were not the men but the women. When he was crucified all the man escaped, there was not a single man. All those so called apostles had all disappeared, but the women were there. Three women were there: they had no fear, they were ready to sacrifice themselves. When Jesus was taken down from the cross, it was not by men - those disciples had gone far away, and one or two were there but they were hiding in the crowd, women took down the body. And it is very significant that when Jesus appeared after three days, resurrected, he appeared to Mary Magdalen, not to a man.

(...)

She immediately recognized him.

(...)

When she went to tell the male disciples that Jesus was resurrected, they laughed. They said woman you are hallucinating. And they laughed and they said this is how women always are: imaginative, dreaming, romantic. Now look at this foolish woman. Jesus is dead. We have seen him die on the cross with our own eues. But she cried and she said listen to me. I have seen him. But they would not listen.

A woman can be a perfect disciple and this is how it should be. Woman is receptive, an opening, a womb. They have never been masters

(...)

But there have never been disciples like women

(...)

The female mind is more blessed. Because the real thing is to receive the truth, the real thing is not to give it that is secondary. And a woman is always more total than a man. Whenever she receives the truth she becomes luminous: her whole body, her whole being shows it, she carries an aura.

Have you not seen a woman who is pregnant, how beautiful she becomes? Her face glows, she is carrying a new life within her. And this is nothing compared to a woman who really becomes a disciple. She is carrying God himself within her. Her glory is infinite.

So don't be worried why women don't become masters. There is no need. If you can become disciples, that is natural and you will always remain true to nature."

Osho - Tao: The Pathless Path Vol I