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> Osho Resigns from the University

In June 1966 a Hindi quarterly magazine Jyoti Sikha (Life Awakening) is published by Jivan Jagruti Kendra (JJK) of Bombay, which is also the main official publisher of Osho's books.

On 1st August 1966 Osho resigns from the University.

Osho writes to a friend:
I was out of station. Have returned only day before yesterday. I have become free of the University, hence now travels are my only life.
What is truth? A total experience of isness, of being, of one's life is the truth.
The more unconscious the experience of 'Isness' the more untrue the life is.
'I am'—experience this with very deep intensity each moment.
Let every breath be filled with this.
Ultimately the 'I' too is to disappear, only the 'am' remains.
It is in that moment that 'that which is' is known and lived.
*Is dialogue possible in silence?
In fact, dialogue is possible only in silence. The words say less and obstruct more.
Deep down everything is connected.
In silence, it is on this level of connectedness that feelings get transmitted.
Words are a very poor substitute of the silent expression.
The truth just cannot be said in words.
It can only be expressed through silent inner voice.
And the advice that you have started giving, I am very happy about it.
Always keep giving such advice.
After all I know nothing about the world!
I get very much overwhelmed by your worry and love for me hidden in this advice.
Pranam ke Rajneesh, 5-8-66 letter05

The day I resigned my post of professor in a university I burned all my certificates. A friend used to live with me; he said, "What are you doing? If you have resigned…. I don't agree that you have done the right thing, but burning your certificates is absolutely unnecessary. You may need them some day; keep them. What is wrong in keeping them? You have such a big library—they won't take up much space, just a small file will be enough. And if you cannot keep them, I will keep them; you just give them to me. Some day you may need them."
I said, "I am finished with all this stupidity. I want to burn all the bridges. And I will never need them because I never look back and I never go back. I am finished with it. It was all nonsense and I have been in it enough."
But I had not compromised with any vested interest; that's why I had to resign: because I was not teaching what I was supposed to teach. In fact I was doing just the opposite. So many complaints against me reached the Vice-Chancellor that finally he gathered courage to call me. He never used to call me because to call me was an encounter! Finally he called me and he said, "Just look—all these complaints are here."
I said, "There is no need to bother about the complaints—here is my resignation."
He said, "What are you saying? I am not saying that you should resign!"
I said, "You are not saying it, but I am resigning because I can only do the things that I want to do. If any imposition on me is there, if any kind of pressure is put on me, I am not going to be here even for a single moment. This is my resignation and I will never enter this building again."
He could not believe it! I left his office; he came running after me. When I was getting into my car he said, "Wait! What is the hurry? Ponder over it!"
I said, "I never ponder over anything. I was doing the right thing. And if there are complaints—and of course I know there are complaints—there must be, because I am not teaching what your stupid syllabus binds me to teach, I am teaching something else. I am not talking about philosophy, I am talking against philosophy, because to me the whole project of philosophy is a sheer stupid exercise in futility. It has not given a single conclusion to humanity. It has been a long, long unnecessary journey and wastage. It is time we should drop the very subject completely. Either a person should be a scientist or he should be a mystic; there is no other way. A scientist experiments with objects and the mystic experiments with his subjectivity. Both are scientists in a way: one is of the outer, the other is of the inner. And the philosopher is nowhere; he is in a limbo. He is neither man nor woman, he is neither here nor there. He is impotent, hence he has not been able to contribute anything. So I cannot teach philosophy—I will go on sabotaging it. I was just waiting—whenever you called me I had to resign immediately."
It was very difficult to get out of it because all my friends came to persuade me, the professors came to persuade me, all my relatives tried to persuade me: "What are you doing?" Even the Education Minister phoned me: "Don't do such a thing. I know that your ways are a little strange, but we will tolerate. You continue. Don't take any note of the complaints. Complaints have been coming to me too, but I am not taking any notice of them. We don't want to lose you."
I said, "That is not the point. Once I have finished with something I am finished with it. Now no pressure can bring me back." inzen15

I was teaching in the university, and without taking any leave from the university I was traveling all over the country, because leave was only twenty days per year and I was traveling twenty days per month.
The vice-chancellor called me and he said, "I don't want to lose you. You are part of our beautiful university; without you…nobody is going to replace you. But just take a little care—everybody thinks you are here and in the newspapers we hear that you have been lecturing in Madras, in Calcutta, in Amritsar, in Srinagar. It makes me embarrassed. People bring those news cuttings to me, saying, `Look, he is in Srinagar.'"
I immediately wrote my resignation and gave it to him. He said, "What are you doing? I am not asking for your resignation."
I said, "You are not asking, but this is what I am doing with totality."
He said, "I was always afraid…that's why I was not mentioning it to you. Please take it back."
I said, "Now that is impossible, you will have to accept it. As far as my work is concerned, I have completed it in this university. You cannot call a single student who can complain against me. What people do in thirty days, I can do in one week, so the work has not suffered. What concern is it for you, where I am?"
He said, "It is not my concern. You just take your resignation back; otherwise the whole university, particularly the students, will kill me!"
I said, "There is no harm in it. You need to be killed, it is time. You are seventy-five."
He said, "You are a strange fellow."
I said, "I have been here nine years in this university. Have you come to know now that I am a strange fellow?"
In the evening he came back to my home and said, "You just take it back; I have not told anybody. This resignation will hurt me."
I said, "I don't want to hurt you. What you said was true. You cannot give me that much leave—it is almost the whole year I am wandering around the country. But you cannot tell me that I am not teaching. I am teaching your people and I am teaching all around the country. I am teaching twenty-four hours a day."
He said, "I understand. You take the resignation back."
I said, "That is impossible, I never take anything back. And I am not angry at you—in fact, I wanted to get rid of this teaching job. When I can teach fifty thousand people, why should I bother with twenty people? It is a sheer wastage. You have helped me, you should feel good about it; you should have done it before!"
When my father heard about it, he came from his village to the university city and he said, "I know, with you nothing can be changed. I have not come to say to take your resignation back, because your vice-chancellor has written to me, saying, `Come and try to convince him to take his resignation back,' but I know you more—he does not know you. So I cannot say anything about it. I have come only to say that if at any time you need money I will be always available, as long as I am alive."
I said, "I will not need money. I have never contributed anything to the family except trouble. And you have enough financial problems."
He said, "If you have said you are not going to take any money, there is no point in arguing with you. I will do something on my own without asking you."
I said, "That is up to you."
What he did was, he made a beautiful house with all the facilities that I would need; he put money in a bank account so that in case I wanted, I could come back. He created a beautiful garden around the house—he knew my likings. And I was not even aware of it. I became aware of it when he died. When he died, my brothers informed me, "This property is in your name and we all want to come to the ashram. So you have to sign a letter giving authority so that it can be sold and the bank account can be closed."
I said, "I don't possess anything and I have told my father not to do any such thing, but he never asked me." So I had my secretary give an affidavit on my account, saying that I don't write, don't sign anything, and she is allowed to do all kinds of transactions for me. The officials of that village knew me perfectly well, so they did not create any trouble. The house was sold, the account was closed. hari04

It happened that in the university where I was teaching for almost nine years, there was a long row between two university buildings. One building was for the arts faculty and the other building was for the science faculty. And between these two buildings there was a long row of very beautiful trees. They give deep shadow, and in the summer there are so many flowers—red flowers—that the trees seem to be on fire. And when there are hundreds of these trees, it looks as if the whole forest is on fire. So many flowers come to them simultaneously that you cannot see the leaves anymore, just flowers—such beautiful flowers.
And there were at least two dozen trees between the two buildings, and just a small road joining the two buildings. And the idea must have been to cover that small road with these lush, green, beautiful trees so that they will cover the whole road—the small road between the two buildings—and will keep the shade even in the hottest summer.
But no one knows what happened. When I had joined that university all the trees were alive. And I had chosen one tree, which was the most beautiful, to park my car under. Nobody was parking their car there, because a parking lot was available on the other side of the building. I was even told that this was not the place to park.
I said, "Unless you show me any ordinance from the university that I cannot park my car under this tree, I am going to park my car under this tree. Even if I have to leave the university, I will leave, but I will park here as long as I am part of the university."
So the vice-chancellor understood, "It is unnecessary to quarrel with this man. He may resign just for this reason, and there is no harm, let him park." And it was just outside his office—he could see me and my car from his window. And my idea to park the car there had some reasons. Because I was mostly out of town without any leave, I had told my chauffeur, "Every day, before the vice-chancellor comes to the university—he comes nearabout twelve—at eleven thirty you park my car under the tree. That will keep him thinking that I am in the university. And just as he leaves you can bring the car back home."
It was because of his window that I had chosen that tree, but he was not aware of the fact that it was really the window, not the tree, because my insistence was that, "I love this tree and I will keep my car under this tree as long as I am in this university." And he used to look out of his window and remained happy, thinking that I was in the university.
Slowly slowly, some kind of disease happened to those trees, so that all the trees died, except the tree I was parking my car under. The vice-chancellor was very much surprised. All the trees completely died. They were without leaves, barren, and the new leaves never came. One day I was parking the car. He came to the window and he called me, waved to me and said, "It is very strange. I am sorry I was preventing you from parking your car. But it is not only me, many people feel that it is just because of you and your car that this tree has remained alive. Because all the trees have died, not a single exception, just your tree." And it had become known as my tree. Nobody else dared to park his car or anything; everybody knew that it was my tree….
And the vice-chancellor himself said, "I am sorry that I was preventing you. If you had listened to me, this tree also would have died. And this tree is the only tree that I can see from my window."
I myself did not think that it had anything to do with me. Then I left the university and after two years I went again, just to meet the vice-chancellor and my friends, colleagues. I was passing through the city and I thought…And as I went there I saw that my tree had also died. Then I also became a little suspicious—perhaps the vice-chancellor and those other people were right.
And he reminded me…As I reached his office he said, "I knew it would happen. The day you resigned I looked at the tree and I felt it, that it was going to happen. And within three months—just three months—the tree died."
And I had left the tree absolutely young, luscious green, full of flowers. Perhaps there was something that was happening in the being of the tree, some love, some trust, some opening, some friendliness. Modern researchers say that trees are more sensitive than human beings, they go through the whole range of emotions: fear, love, anger, compassion. They go through all these emotions far more deeply than human beings.
It is really a question of being open. The master is only an excuse. Use the master as an excuse, so that you can learn the language of trust, the language of openness, the language of communion with existence, and you will find your life will become inwardly rich, every day more and more. And you will find a grace in your being that you were never aware was possible. chit06

I had renounced my professorship and become a beggar…although I never begged. But the truth is I am a beggar, but a special type of beggar who does not beg.
You will have to find a word for it. I don't think a word exists in any language that can explain my situation, simply because I have not been here before—in this way, this style. Neither has anybody else been this way, with this style: having nothing and living as if you own the whole universe. glimps47

I have not touched any note for thirty-five years. It is the dirtiest thing. Not that I am against money but it is the most dirty thing. All kinds of people…somebody may have cancer, somebody may have tuberculosis, somebody may have AIDS…and who knows what he has been doing with his notes? Anything is possible, because people are so perverted, they can do anything with the bank notes. I said, "I am not going to touch them"—and I stopped touching them. ignor23

But how do you earn your living?
I don't buy anything. I talk to you and if you feel that this man must not starve, then you do something. If you stop doing, then I will die. And I will be content with it.
How will you be content with it?
How will I be content? Because I am content with everything. And this contentment is not a forced contentment, this is not a deadness. I am content with everything. early12

After Osho's resignation in 1966 the controversy around him intensifies. As well as attacking orthodox religions, Gandhi, Socialism and Communism, he 'turns the wheel of dharma' with his revolutionary insights into love, sex, death, and meditation.

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