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You ask: You address certain sannyasins by our original name, never using our sannyas name. Not only this, but you affix to our name "ji," "Babu," "Bhai"—a sign of respect shown to elders!—and I feel embarrassed.
Govind Siddharth, this is true. There are a few people who I have known long before the initiation into sannyas started. Even before sannyas they were sannyasins by their attitude, by their gratefulness. So when they took sannyas, as far as I was concerned, there was no change. They were already sannyasins to me. They were unaware of it, but to me there was no change. This was the reason that I continued their old names.
For example, I am addressing Govind Siddharth for the first time; otherwise I have always called him Lashkariji. Kakubhai…Falibhai… Jayantibhai…I have known them for so many years before sannyas, and there has been no drastic change. They smoothly moved into sannyas, so smoothly that I don't remember a few of their sannyas names. I don't know what is the name of Falibhai, and there is no need. Falibhai will become enlightened as Falibhai. He must know his sannyas name, but I have forgotten because I have never used it. And that was the case with Lashkariji. Today I have used Govind Siddharth before you all, but from tomorrow—again Lashkariji!
Names don't matter.
I can understand your embarrassment that I am calling everybody else by the sannyas name and not calling you by the sannyas name—"Is there something missing?" No, there is not anything missing. Even before you became a sannyasin there was nothing missing. Your sannyas has not been a revolution but an evolution. You have simply grown; you have not taken any jump, there has not been any need.
And you should understand my trouble also: when I see you, I don't remember Govind Siddharth, I remember Lashkariji. So you should be compassionate towards me too; I have my troubles. Now when Kakubhai comes to see me, I don't know his sannyas name. But the important thing is sannyas, not the name. And it is something inner, not something outer. So don't feel that way.
I can see the point, that you respect me. And this has been the human tradition all over the world: that if you respect me then I cannot respect you—and that is absolutely wrong.
If you go to a Jaina monk and you put both your hands together with deep respect and bow down to him, he cannot do the same to you—because you are respecting him, you are putting him on a higher pedestal; now from that pedestal he can only bless you. Jaina scriptures, Hindu scriptures, Buddhist scriptures all prohibit it: sannyasins should not be respectful towards non-sannyasins. They should be compassionate—compassion keeps you above them.
But about everything, my approach is different. I respect all those who respect me. I love all those who love me.
The more you respect me, the more I respect you; it is a mutual phenomenon. There is no question of somebody being superior and somebody being inferior….
So as far as I am concerned, I am not one of your so-called holier-than-thou saints.
I love you. I respect you. I am grateful, as you cannot conceive.
I am immensely thankful to every person who has come to me to share my joy, to share my being, to be part of my celebration. upan14

In 1985 Osho was to say:
One of my oldest sannyasins, Ma Yoga Laxmi, was the president of the Indian section of my sannyasins for almost ten years, and has been with me almost for twenty years….  false04

Mukta…as far as I am concerned, you are the only sannyasin amongst millions who has loved me from the very first day you entered into my room some twenty years ago.
Mukta is one of those unwavering people that have become very rare in the world. She had not come for me; she had come just to accompany another sannyasin. That other sannyasin has disappeared long ago….
But Mukta is made of a different metal. She had come with that sannyasin just to see India; she had no conscious intention even to meet me. She came to see me just accidentally because that woman was coming to see me. And miracles happen in the world: that woman is lost, and Mukta has never left me for a single moment—here, in America, going around the world. She has left her home, she has left her husband, she has left her children, she has left all the heritage that her old father has left for her. She never went there to get that heritage; her other sister has swallowed the whole thing.
She has never complained about anything. She has never differed in her mind for a single moment; she has passed from disciplehood to the state of devotee long ago.
So it may have been, Mukta, that "the other morning you looked so young in my eyes. I love you"—but I have been loving you for twenty years. I can remember the first day you entered into my room in Bombay. Sitting on the sofa, I had a very clear perception that you had not come with Pratima, that sannyasin, but that Pratima had come with you, my future sannyasin.
And the same day Mukta became a sannyasin.
Such unwavering trust and love is the only miracle worth calling a miracle. Jesus walking on water is not miracle…. satyam27

Osho writes a letter to Mukta (1971):
Dear Mukta.
Love.
Yes, you were related to Yoga Vivek in one of your past lives.
Now many things will be remembered by you soon
because the key is in your hands.
But do not think about them at all
otherwise your imagination will get mixed up with the memories
and then it will be difficult to know
what is real and what is not.
So be always aware from now
that you are not to think about past lives:
let the memories come up by themselves.
No conscious effort on your part is needed;
on the contrary it will be a great hindrance.
Let the unconscious do the work,
you be just a witness,
and as the meditation will go deeper
many locked doors will be opened to you.
But always remember to wait for the mysteries to reveal themselves.
The seed is broken—and much is to follow.
You need only wait and be a witness. teacup06

Here is Haridas. He is one of my oldest sannyasins. He is German and he heard Adolf Hitler's name for the first time from me! Can you believe it? But he was born after the second world war. fire03

In my childhood days I used to play the flute, and one of my friends—not really a friend, but an acquaintance—used to play on the tabla. We both came to know each other because we both loved swimming….
This boy, Hari was his name too. Hari is a very common name in India; it means "god." But it is a very strange name. I don't think any language has a name for God like Hari because it really means "the thief"—God the thief! Why should God be called a thief? Because sooner or later he steals your heart…and the sooner the better. The boy's name was Hari.
We were both trying to cross the river in full flood. It must have been almost a mile wide. He did not survive; he drowned somewhere on the way across. I searched and looked, but it was impossible: the river was flooding too fast.  glimps27

When Haridas came to me I gave him the name Haridas in remembrance of him, because he looked almost like Haridas. And whenever I look at Haridas I always smile—I remember him. He simply got lost into the river. We tried hard for two, three days; we could not find even his corpse. spcial02

I love the Italians. Just one thing I hesitate about, which is that they look a little greasy—but I can tolerate that. And the second thing is their spaghetti. I don't know that it is something bad….
Just by coincidence an Italian woman who was one of my first sannyasins…She is a professor, but I don't think she has ever taken a bath. On her face you can see layers and layers of powder. She stinks…and this was a bad fate for spaghetti. She prepared spaghetti and brought it for me—and the spaghetti was also smelling and stinking the same! Since then I have become so afraid of spaghetti that I have never tried it. That one experience…I did not even taste it. I somehow managed that that woman should go away. I said, "I will eat it"—and the moment she was gone I flushed it. Even after flushing it my whole bathroom was stinking! socrat24

Sheela had come first to me because her husband was suffering from cancer, and the doctors in America had said that he cannot live more than two years. She was desperately in search of someone who could help.
Her husband, Chinmaya, was a beautiful man. He remained with me, and it almost always happens, when you are facing death meditation is easy. You cannot postpone it, because tomorrow you may not be here to meditate.
So Chinmaya tried hard to meditate, and that helped him to live. All the medical experts were agreed. They could not believe what had happened to him, because two years was the maximum limit for his disease.
But he lived almost ten years, and lived happily in spite of cancer, and died happily. Just a few years more and he would have been enlightened. But he reached to the point that in the next life the remaining small part can be done. His next life will be the last life.
Sheela had to remain with him, so it was just accidental, her coming to me, her remaining with me. bond05



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