Same Old Stories
It once happened to a man who was
travelling by rail: he noticed that another man who was his sole companion in
the compartment was behaving in an unusual way. For some time he seemed to be
chuckling to himself very happily, and then a serious look would come over his
face and he would make a gesture of impatience before resuming his chuckles
again. After a while, the first man could not stand it any longer and
said,’Excuse my asking, sir, but what is it that amuses you so much?’
‘Funny stories, of course,’ he
promptly replied,’I am telling myself funny stories.’
‘How very interesting,’ murmured the
first man soothingly, and then added,’but every now and then you look very
serious. Why is that?’
‘That is when it is a story I have
heard before.’
This is how things go on. If you
yourself are telling the story, how can you tell the new story? All stories are
heard before; you can just repeat. Your life cannot be a life of newness, of
freshness, of morning. Your life is bound to be stale, stuffed with just
repetitions; at the most an efficient mechanism, but no consciousness.
So whenever you are ready to take
the journey for the unknown, the pilgrimage towards the divine, fear will arise
— fear of losing that which you have never had, fear of losing life. Life you
have never had — just a mechanical thing: the fear of losing a repetitive
efficiency, the fear of losing your old pattern. It may be comfortable and convenient,
but it is not alive.
There is nothing like death, because death is the most
comfortable state of being, convenient. In a grave you will be perfectly
comfortable and convenient, and there is no trouble. Life always creates new
troubles. Those troubles are not really troubles. If you look rightly, they are
challenges to grow.
Osho – “Come Follow To You”
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