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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