Glimpses of A Golden Childhood


Het leven van Osho als kind,tiener en student komen in dit opmerkelijke boek ‘Glimpses of A Golden Childhood’ aan de orde. Van jongs af zet Osho vraagtekens bij wat door zijn omgeving als waarheid wordt aangenomen.
En ook later op school en tijdens zijn universitaire jaren valt hij op door zijn
rebelse aanwezigheid.
Glimpses of a Golden ChildhoodVerrukkelijke verhalen kom je in dit boek tegen waarin Osho op zijn eigen unieke manier volwassenen van repliek dient.
En dat gebeurt op zo’n manier, dat zij wel genoodzaakt zijn zich opnieuw over de dingen te bezinnen en hun standpunt te herzien.
Van begin tot het eind is het smullen bij dit boek dat ook nog voorzien is van prachtige bijzondere foto’s.

Het boek ‘Glimpses of A Golden Childhood’ is verkrijgbaar bij de Boekhandel of via internet.

Impressie van ‘Glimpses of A Golden Childhood’

In his introduction to this remarkable book, Abhinandan writes: `The book you have just opened is unique, it is a story of truth. Once upon a time in the city of Rajneeshpuram, Oregon, in that insanity we call America, the living master Osho went to his dentist. This in itself is not unusual. (Even the enlightened ones have sick teeth). What is unique is that the Master turned this seemingly ordinary occasion into an event, another chance to share his being with us. The dental work was fairly routine and, near the end, Osho said a few quiet words as if to himself.

In ‘Glimpses of a Golden Childhood’ stories are told by Osho about his life before enlightenment, when the buddha was a bud. “It is said that while other children went outside to play, Osho went inside – in the truest sense – to find his playground”.

These words are fragments of Osho’s childhood, a childhood of rebellion. It tells stories from his school, his family, his grandfather, his first meetings with extraordinary people. And it is filled with the love Osho has for all these figures and with love this people are carrying towards him.

My grandmother herself had said many times to me, “Why do you go on calling your mother bhabhi? Call her mother.” I simply avoided the question. This is the first time that I have spoken about or discussed it — with you.

My Nani has somehow become part of my very being. She loved me so immensely. Once, when a thief entered our house she fought with him barehanded, and I saw how ferocious a woman can be… really dangerous! If I had not interfered she would have killed the poor man. I said, “Nani! What are you doing! Just for my sake, leave him. Let him go!” Because I was crying and telling her to stop for my sake, she allowed the man to go. The poor man could not believe that she was sitting on his chest holding his neck with both her hands. She would certainly have killed him. Just a little more pressure on his throat and the man would have died.

When she spoke to Bhoora I knew she meant it. Bhoora knew she meant it too. When my grandfather started the mantra, I knew he also understood that she meant business.

Twice I was attacked — and to me it was a joy, an adventure. In fact deep down, I wanted to know what it meant to be abducted. That has always been my characteristic, you can call it my character. It is a quality I rejoice in. I used to go on my horse to the woods which belonged to us. My grandfather promised that all that belonged to him would be willed to me, and he was true to his word. He never gave a single pai to anybody else. ‘Glimpses of a Golden Childhood’

He had thousands of acres of land. Of course, in those days it didn’t have any value, but value is not my concern. It was so beautiful — those tall trees, and a great lake; and in summer when the mangos became ripe it was so fragrant. I used to go there on my horse so often that the horse became accustomed to my path.
I am still the same… and if I don’t like a place I never return there.

I have been to Madras only once, just once because I never liked the place, particularly the language. It sounded as if everybody was fighting with everybody else; I hate that. And I hate that kind of language, so I said to my host, “This is my first and last visit to you.”

He said, “Why the last?”

I said, “I hate this type of language. Everyone seems to be fighting. I know they are not — it is just the way they speak.” I hate Madras, I don’t like it at all.

Krishnamurti likes Madras, but that is his business. He goes there every year. He is a Tamil. In fact he was born near Madras. He is a Madrassee, so for him to go there is perfectly logical. Why should I go there?

I used to go to many places. Why? There is no why. I just liked to go. I like to be on the go. Do you get it?… on the go. I am a man who has no business here, or there, or anywhere. I am just on the go. Let me say it in other words: I am on the merry-go-round. Now I think you get it.

I used to go on my horse, and seeing those horses in Princess Anne’s wedding procession I could not believe that England could have such beautiful horses. The queen is just homely — I don’t want to say ugly, just out of politeness. And Prince Charles is certainly not a prince; look at his face! You call his type of face princely? Perhaps in England… and the guests! The bigwigs! In particular, the high priest — what do you call him in England?

“The archbishop of Canterbury, Bhagwan.”

Great! Archbishop! A great name for such a dash-dash-dash. Otherwise they will say that because I used such words I cannot be enlightened. But I think everybody in the world will understand what I mean by dash-dash-dash — even the archbishop!
All those people, and I could only love the horses! They were the real people. What joy! What steps! What dance! Just sheer celebration. I immediately remembered my own horse, and those days… their fragrance is there still. I can see the lake, and myself as a child on the horse in the woods. It is strange — although my nose is under this mousetrap I can smell the mangos, the neem trees, the pines, and I can also smell my horse.
It is good that I was not allergic to smell in those days, or, who knows, I may have been allergic but unaware of it. It is a strange coincidence that the year of my enlightenment was also the year of my becoming allergic. Perhaps I was allergic before and just not aware of it. And when I became enlightened, the awareness came. I have dropped the enlightenment now. “Please,” I am telling existence, “drop this allergy so that again I can ride a horse.” That will be a great day, not only for me but for all my sannyasins.

There is only one picture, which they go on publishing all over the world, in which I am riding on a Kashmiri horse. It is just a picture. I was not really riding, but because the photographer wanted me to be photographed on a horse, and I loved the man — the photographer, I mean — I could not say no to him. He had brought the horse and all his equipment, so I said okay. I just sat on the horse, and you can even see from the picture that my smile was not true. It is the smile when a photographer says, “Smile please!” But if I can transcend enlightenment, who knows, I may transcend allergy to horses at least. Then I can have the same kind of world around me:

the lake…
the mountains,
the river…
only I will miss my grandmother.

Devageet, you are not the only Jew here. Remember, you are not in a hurry. I am in the hurry, my bladder is hurting! So please… I always want to have the last word. Devageet, you would have been such a good nagging wife. Really, I mean it! Just find a nice boy and go on honeymoon. Look, you are already thinking that I have released you. Don’t be in such a hurry. Your bladders are not bursting! Now….

That’s good.
This is fabulous! I have just used this word for the first time in my life… just fabulous! I don’t know what it means, but when your bladder is bursting, who cares! ‘Glimpses of a Golden Childhood’