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Drawing the Curtain

28/3/2018

We are emerging bleary-eyed in the aftermath of Wild Wild Country. Wow! I doubt the filmmakers had any idea of the volume of discussion their documentary would engender. Whether or not the fallout is enriching remains to be seen. But, if nothing else, this re-telling of the sannyasin story has brought into focus many unresolved threads that criss-cross the globe, enveloping not only those who were there at the coalface but many who have since been drawn to Osho, together with curious others who are moved to explore the phenomenon of the Oregon commune and the legacy of the man who gave birth to it.

At the heart of the discussions are three stand-out questions: How did the Rajneeshpuram experiment come to such an end? Who (if anyone) should bear responsibility? Should spiritual teachers who claim ‘awakening’ or ‘enlightenment’ be viewed differently from those of us who make no such claims?

When you distill the range of responses to these questions it seems clear there are mainly two discrete camps. In one constellation are those who are protective of Osho and his legacy; in the other category are those who regard his perceived behaviour as less than sacrosanct.

Plenty has been said on these and related questions. I would now like to focus upon another topic – our ability to handle conflict or disagreement and how we can avoid hardening our hearts towards each other, especially when our identity or allegiance is challenged.

We only have to look around us see the problems that arise when people hold very different opinions about a particular issue – whether these relate to political ideologies, religious orientation or the multitude of contentious subjects that fall within the human sphere. We easily get stuck. Stuck with our opinions, our beliefs, our worldviews. We attempt to argue our case as best we can. We often find it difficult to take in the other person’s point of view. Ultimately, this can lead to withdrawal, estrangement, hostility, and/or aggression – between individuals, families, countries, and societies. Rarely is mutual understanding enhanced. Rarely do friendships deepen. Rarely do we find ways to negotiate our differences while at the same time remaining open to altering our positions.

As a family lawyer I was never comfortable playing the advocate. When dealing with distressed couples who had broken up, I could always see there were at least two sides to the story. Boxing these people into separate corners, where they had to mount a case against the other and elevate their own worthiness struck me as a highly unsatisfactory and limited way to resolve the angst. With a great sense of relief I migrated to the world of mediation. In this realm I could hold a space where emotions ran rampant and I could endeavour to build practical bridges between the contesting parties. It was extremely satisfying to find that some folk would respond – they would come to understand their point of view was not necessarily totally right and the other’s totally wrong. They may have stopped loving one another but in softening their positions they would find a way to ease the pain of separation and move on in their lives. Sometimes, after many hours and sessions, it would warm my heart to see not only practical bridges emerging but also psychological shift which would change the entire gestalt between the participants. You never knew if it would last – but it would surely be a mile and a half better than spending a fortune on lawyers!

I think of this now as I read the plethora of polarised opinions in sannyasin and ex-sannyasin circles. It is as if those who are still feel an unshakable affinity with Osho have assembled on one side of an orange curtain. While some may have private concerns, they are prepared to give their Master the benefit of the doubt, while others in that group are unwavering in their belief that even if Osho orchestrated the whole enchilada, it served a higher purpose. Who are we – the non-enlightened ones – to question his vision or methods?

Outside the orange curtain are the rest of us. A diverse mob – spread along a spectrum ranging from the bitter and betrayed at one end - to the mildly confused - and through to those who are grateful for their experience but no longer identify as 'sannyasins' .

And then, I suppose, there is a third category – those who show no interest in this current discourse or do not find it relevant to their present lives. These people feel they have moved on and have concluded it’s pointless to resurrect the past.

As I have made it clear in previous articles, I cannot see that the past is so easily forgotten or ignored. It lurks behind – and usually informs – the present.

Which brings me to how we were then – and how we are now. I agree with those who maintain that each of us needs to take responsibility for our individual journeys (whether or not we have a spiritual interest). While we are young, conditioned by our upbringing and seeking to find our way, it is understandable we may look for answers outside of ourselves. Consciously or otherwise, we search for guides or mentors who we can trust and whose perceived wisdom exceeds our own. If we are moved to search for a source of inspiration outside the realm of political figures, business leaders, religious icons, sporting idols and media personalities, we may stumble upon spiritual teachers or teachings that appear to answer all our questions and open us to possibilities which we have never imagined.

Most of us were in the twenty to forty year-old bracket when Osho came into our lives. Technically, we were adults. Most of us cognitively mature and functional in society – yet many, if not the vast majority, psychologically and spiritually mere babes-in-arms.

That was our sannyasin past – rich, meaningful, fulfilling – and innocent, at least for a significant period.

Fast-forward to the present. We have doubled or tripled in age, those of us lucky enough to still be here. Our Master is long gone and can no longer speak for himself. He has left a tangible legacy in terms of an ashram in Poona, various centres around the world, a vast written and spoken heritage, available in books and on film. What about us – we who were or remain so devoted? Are we still earnestly seeking to transform ourselves? Are we still fixated on the carrot of ‘enlightenment?’ Do we still aspire towards ruthless self–honesty and openness?

We will have our individual interpretations of and answers to these questions. For me, they lead to further questions, the most fundamental being the one I raised back in January: What have we learnt?

Again, though I tend to drift into using the royal ‘we’, I can only speak for myself. My answer, in part, relates to the relationship I now have with any teacher or teaching. It is a relationship, I hope, that comes with discernment. And when I talk about discernment I am not talking about cynicism or keeping my distance. It is about plunging in with an open heart; responding in the moment to whatever calls – and simultaneously remaining attuned to an inner guide – a guide that does not preclude devotion but one that informs my response and directs my behaviour.

In less airy-fairy language, we could call this guide a bullshit detector.

Yes, life around Osho was indeed a mystery school. Much is made of this by present-day devotees who are forever quoting his words or falling back on the premise that none of us can know what he really meant or intended. These conclusions do not satisfy me. And it is clear they do not satisfy many others who have walked through the same fires, and thirty or forty years later have arrived at a somewhat different understanding of the modern guru-disciple relationship.

‘Truth is not afraid of questions’, as Paramahansa Yogananda puts it so sweetly and neatly in The Autobiography of a Yogi.

If we accept this statement, how does it apply to the various constellations to which I have referred earlier?

On one side of the orange curtain, many questions are raised about Osho’s behaviour and intentions. Clearly, he is not around in his body to answer. Let us suppose for a moment that he was. Let us suppose he gave a morning discourse and an evening darshan – just like in the good old days. Would anyone be brave enough to put forward their doubts, let alone pursue a line of questioning that reflects the concerns that many have now expressed? If past patterns were to be replicated, it is unlikely such challenges would be tolerated.

Of course, this is hypothetical. Osho is no longer with us. We have to figure it out for ourselves. If we occupy a position inside the tent – on the other side of the orange curtain – we are probably impervious to the criticisms and concerns that I and others have articulated. Or if we are not impervious, we are still reluctant to align ourselves with anything that reflects poorly on the Master we revered. I know folk who are caught in this dilemma. It’s a hard choice. Gratitude runs deep and one does not want to turn away from its source. Better to put up with the twinges of discomfort and maintain solidarity with one’s flock.

All of this can adversely affect friendships and intimate relationships that were once strong and joyous. We can become uncertain or apprehensive about sharing with those with whom we were once open and confiding. We silently collude in ‘no-go zones’ and avoid ticklish conversations. We compartmentalise what were once spontaneous and laughter-filled connections. Or we retreat into rejection or iron-clad judgments. Do we not? And if we do, are we willing to change where an invitation is offered?

Opening the Curtain

Keeping in mind human propensity to make a mess of situations where people hold diametrically opposed views, is it possible – or indeed desirable – to work towards reconciliation and heartfelt re-connection between the orange and ex-orange diasporas? I do not know whether it is possible but I strongly believe it is worthwhile to try. Indeed, many of us are trying. We do not want to see the essence of what drove us to seek out Osho in the first place manifest in estrangement and division. We want our own behaviour to align with this end. If we are to be the ‘new man’ and the ‘new woman’, we need to stand up and be counted, moment to moment. Anything less, I would argue, is a betrayal of Osho’s true legacy.

My wife wags her finger and warns me against lecturing. She also infers I may be pissing into a strong gale. (My words not hers.) I’m a utopian optimist. Connected-ness is fine but doesn’t alienation have a place? We have to accept some folk will never be on the same page. Get used to it! Well, there is an impulse to argue with her – before we both laugh and roll our eyes. Disagreement? What disagreement?

Half-jokingly, I have suggested to friends what is needed is akin to South Africa’s ‘truth and reconciliation’ process. Many of you will remember the widespread apprehension when apartheid ended. A blood-bath was on the cards. It didn’t happen – and that had much to do with some brave leadership which ushered in a process where stories were told publicly by all sides – and rather than retribution, a form of reconciliation emerged. Of course, it was not perfect but it was way better than the other anticipated option.

Unlike the situation I’ve just described, those of us with a sannyasin history are scattered throughout the planet. Despite our cyber-connectivity, our tents are often far apart. The recent Facebook dialogues have brought to the surface voices that were suppressed or unheard for years. But it should not stop there. Let us reach within and see what we are capable of. Curtains have a dual function. They can be drawn shut to darken a room. Or they can be pulled aside to let in the light.

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Wild Wild Country: Sincerity or Spin?

23/3/2018

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‘Larkin’s life was a pitiful mess of evasion and poltroonery; his work was a triumph. That’s the one to choose if (as he believed) you can’t have both. The life rests in peace; the work lives on.’ In The Rub of Time, Martin Amis is writing of Philip Larkin, the English poet whose personal life – like that of so many creative folk – tended to be messy.

I was reading Amis over the same weekend we went to see the biopic on Auguste Rodin. Whatever energy that was not expounded by this French maestro in his sculptor’s studio was dissipated in the bedroom in the company of a revolving assortment of de facto wives, mistresses and models.

What, if anything, do artists and gurus have in common, I found myself thinking, after signing up to Netflix and joining the apparent hordes devouring and digesting Wild Wild Country?

After the first two episodes this question faded. I was too busy grinding my teeth and hurling epithets at the TV screen in a futile bid to assuage my frustration. But I hung in there and was well pleased I did. The series gathered momentum and became compulsive viewing.

I am not the first and certainly won’t be the last to wax eloquent about this documentary on the former sannyasin commune in Oregon. Facebook rivers are running wild, as those who were there (and some who were not) scatter their responses in cyberspace. I have been following some of the threads, as people ping their arrows of experience, belief, and imagination into a convoluted conversation that seems to go everywhere and nowhere.

There have already been a couple of reviews posted on Osho News – the first, a fine piece of writing by Roshani. She observes ‘the series seems to skip like a rock over water, landing briefly on the most controversial events’ and while the ‘arc of the story is accurate, if not the fine details’ its ‘meaning, not surprisingly, is filtered through the multifaceted lenses of the films interviewees’.
Here, she hits upon a source of my frustration – a frustration, I gather from the Facebook discourse, that is shared by others. We are offered the stories of key players – Sheela, Shanti Bhadra, Niren, Jayananda, and Sunshine. The first three named are given a vast amount of air time. Their roles are well known to many of us and we will not be overly surprised by their analyses and opinions. In fact, there will be those among us who will be cocking an eyebrow at everything that flows from the mouths of these characters from central casting. The word ‘spin’ may come to mind as might the word ‘trust’. However, wrestling with these presuppositions I am endeavouring to apply the litmus test of objectivity and not be swamped by reactions, no matter how tempted!

My interest in the subject matter, as indicated in previous articles, is keen. I applaud any light shone upon this shared past, just as I hope all of us who participated - in ways great and small - are able to contribute our stories and reflect upon what it meant to us then - and what it means to us now.

To achieve this end, there needs to be willingness for truth-telling and it is through this primary lens that I am viewing the documentary. And, boy, does that open up a minefield. Truth-telling? Whose truth are we talking about? Well, let’s set aside the views of the citizens of The Dalles and Antelope and the law enforcement agencies and look at those interviewees who were – or remain – Osho disciples. In over seven hours of viewing we get a pretty good idea of what they are saying – and not saying.

Sheela

If I understand her correctly, Sheela still loves Osho even though he has called her a criminal and blames her and her ‘gang’ for all that went wrong. Her abode in Switzerland is adorned with photographs of her Master. And through her eyes, everything she initiated or authorised was done out of her sense of responsibility to protect him and ‘his people’. This included what most folk (and the law) would regard as serious crimes as well as other acts which, if not criminal, can be construed as morally repugnant. Sheela’s case is that she was driven by outside forces – ‘the bigots’ – to take the actions that she did. Stripping away the verbiage, ‘the ends justify the means’.
Unless I’ve missed something, nowhere did I see expressions of remorse or any degree of compassion towards those who suffered under her regime, not only those who supposedly constituted an outside threat – be they ranchers, lawyers, government officials, or ordinary Oregonians – but also sannyasins who had the temerity to challenge what was going on – and the many more who invested their dreams, fortunes and trust in their beloved master and his vibrant community.

Neither was there – and to my knowledge has there ever been – any attempt at an apology. No expression of sorrow or regret, either generally or directed towards particular individuals. Zilch. On the contrary, Sheela stands defiant. Untouched by the wreckage. One government official sums up his appraisal of her: ‘She lacks empathy’.

Sheela’s testimony during the series, if we can call it that, had much to do with self-justification and little to do with self-reflection. As I have read elsewhere, it was as if she tapped into her well-honed ability to show a particular face in a particular context at a particular time. There were moments construed to elicit sympathy and judging by some of the Facebook commentary, some people were touched by these displays.

Where I felt that the documentary was lacking – and this applied to all those interviewed – was that they were not presented directly with contrary views to their own. Nor were they obliged to explain any contradictions or omissions, and we, the audience, were left wondering ‘why weren’t they asked this – or that?’

Sheela’s devotion to her spiritual master was self-evident. It could have been a blessing but turned out to be a curse – with consequences within and far beyond the Oregon commune.

Shanti Bhadra

First - a disclosure. I was a friend and neighbour of Shanti B before we became sannyasins. I was good mates with her then husband, Riten while Maitri (my then wife) and Shanti B became very close friends – and our children were in and out of one another’s houses. In her book Breaking The Spell I get a brief mention although not a very flattering one. As our sannyas paths evolved, we had little to do with each other and I have not seen Shanti B since she left the ranch with Sheela in September 1985.

How my past connection affects what I’m about to say, it will be up to others to judge.

Firstly, the book. When I read it, it felt slightly strange to be hearing the story of somebody who I had known – or thought I knew – and who had always been passionate and sincere, humorous and lively, and who had morphed from a cleaner in Poona One to Teertha’s assistant, and then into one of the major figures in the administration of Rajneeshpuram.

I thought the story was well told, especially the events of childhood, marriage, and parenting and the sense of ‘something missing’ which many of us experienced in our lives and which were answered when we stumbled across Osho. As I read, I wanted to see how Shanti B explained her conversion from an independent, thoughtful, articulate and intelligent woman to someone who would attempt to kill a fellow sannyasin. To her credit, she tried to come to grips with that transition. And she did express remorse. In fact, in court for the second time after she had voluntarily returned from Germany, she makes a series of specific apologies which come across as clear and genuine. Apart from that, she acknowledges lack of honesty and lying under oath. She concludes by saying she has been more fortunate than some – those who paid with their lives and others who are still suffering. She is grateful to the parents who took her back and for the support they and her German husband gave her on her road to healing.

Of course, anyone can question Shanti B’s motives and doubt the sincerity of her words. After all she was in court and clearly whatever she said may have an effect on the outcome. But when I went back to the book recently and re-read what she had written it struck me as genuine. And I thought it was a pity the nature and strength of these apologies were not revealed in Wild Wild Country. Perhaps they were in the interview but did not make the final cut.

Having said that, I came away from that book dissatisfied with her basic premise, namely, that her devotion to Osho was akin to being put under a spell (hence the title). In other words, a diminution of responsibility. A not-so-subtle shifting of the blame onto that pesky guru……. and his charismatic secretary…… for taking advantage of one’s devotion and weaving such magic that one became devoid of one’s moral compass and the capacity to choose a course other than the one flagged by Osho and/or Sheela.

This is the excuse – the fallback of convenience – that has been well-used by followers of charismatic leaders down the ages. Having experienced the Osho phenomenon, it is easy to understand how someone who had committed acts they would later regret might reconstruct a rationale behind their actions in terms of ‘I was under a spell’. Most of us around Osho were devoted and thoroughly immersed in the love affair that a Master offers. Yet only a small number managed to get themselves in the invidious position in which Shanti B and others were placed. I remain thankful my recalcitrance in the early days of the ranch left me far removed from the seat of power. Sheela would’ve never given me such a directive and in the unlikely event that she had – I’m pretty sure I would have told her where to go (and probably received my marching orders). But I am speculating here. Devotion is such a powerful force. History shows that anyone, anywhere, anytime, can be susceptible.

So how do Shanti B’s explanations resonate? We will all interpret her words and demeanour in different ways, and in essence it is her business. But I was hopeful during the documentary she would be given the opportunity to expound further on this theme. Yet it didn’t happen. Instead we were left with a carefully-constructed story now repeated in film. Is there more to come? I would like to think so. Shanti B has suffered personal tragedy in her life and I respect the fact she has exposed herself yet again, knowing full well there will be inevitable criticisms, judgements and conclusions drawn about how genuine she is and what she has learnt, if anything. My hope is that she will extend that courage to the wider community of sannyasins and former sannyasins and participate in the evolving dialogue, much as Maria (Deeksha) has done. Therein, perhaps, are opportunities for redemption, understanding and reconciliation.

Niren

We were about to go to bed, having consumed the final three episodes that day. All fired up, I turned to Daniele. ‘All good lawyers are actors,’ I said, ‘and we’ve been watching a very good lawyer’.

She looked at me. ‘You sound so venomous. That’s not like you. You are usually so good at modulating your emotions. What’s happened to the mediator?’

‘No I’m not,’ I protested. ‘Yes – passionate or vehement if you like. But not venomous.’

She was unconvinced and we went to bed, awash with cascading thoughts and nervous systems suitably jangled as the raw after-effects of those episodes seeped through us.

Now, in the light of day, I am staring at the keyboard and wondering whether I am capable of dealing fairly yet firmly with my former colleague and fellow lawyer.

I first met Niren when he arrived on the ranch. He was among a group of American lawyers recruited to the Legal Department which in the early days constituted me (an Australian) and that lovable rogue, Munish, (an Irishman). Qualified Americans could get admitted to the Oregon Bar – and to my eventual delight that enabled me to eject into carpentry and other outdoor activities which ultimately turned out to be extremely helpful to my post-ranch future.

At the outset it was obvious Niren was destined to be a shining star. He had a keen analytic mind and the ability to cut to the chase. Years as a high-profile trial lawyer endowed him with the capacity to argue with force and passion. As an advocate he came across as a Great Persuader. If you were in court you would want him on your side. Sheela – and Osho – recognised his worth.

We were not close friends and I lost touch with him as our sannyasin career paths diverged. More recently we have reconnected through Facebook. Both of us have children and grandchildren on the east coast of Australia. So, in talking about Niren’s contribution to Wild Wild Country, I will try to adhere to my wife’s excellent advice – address the issues and avoid the personal.

The issues? Well, the key point Niren attempts to make throughout the series is that Osho had no knowledge of – and by implication no responsibility for – any of the criminal acts that took place. These were conceived and executed by Sheela and the cohort around her. At one point, Niren uses the fact that Osho was in silence for a number of years as a reason for his (Osho’s) ignorance of the events taking place on and off the ranch. His role was to provide spiritual guidance and he did not get involved in any way, shape or form in secular activities.

How does this argument stack up?

Not well, in my view. If we go back to Poona One, I doubt whether you can find a sannyasin or former sannyasin (who was there for any decent length of time) who did not have a firm view that Osho knew pretty much everything about what was going on. Not only that, he directed and orchestrated policy – often down to minute details. There is evidence of that in his own words (in relation to how he instructed Laxmi) and in the words of those who had direct dealings with him. Not many of those who were in that inner circle have come out publicly and said so but there have been some powerful and persuasive testimonies given by the likes of Hugh Milne (Shiva) and Maria Grazi Mori-Oakley (Deeksha).

Of course, the sannyasin orthodox approach has been to dismiss Shiva and Deeksha as disgruntled former disciples, with an axe to grind. In my view, that is a classic case of shooting the messenger. One only has to read Milne’s book The God that Failed to appreciate a story of a disciple who had a deep love for his master and had to go through his own dark night of the soul which included excommunication from the community he had loved and denigration from the master himself and those who ran the community. Milne had every right to feel aggrieved and hurt. But his book is much more than an angry response to the treatment he suffered. He was privy, both in Poona One and for a time at the ranch, to Osho’s instructions and to the actions of those who carried them out. He was also privy to Osho’s use of nitrous oxide and he was perturbed by the way ‘truth became twisted and altered. Historical revisionism was becoming quite a sannyasi art form, perhaps to replace the now-forbidden one of gossip’.

Like Milne, probably even more so, Deeksha - both in Poona One and the castle in Montclair, New Jersey, - had direct access to Osho. Anyone who has followed her lengthy contributions in the Facebook groups would appreciate that her firm opinion – based on direct experience – is that he not only knew what was going on but he was the one in charge. His secretaries and anyone else who came within his immediate orbit were there to do his bidding. No question about it.
Did things change at Rajneeshpuram?

Yes and no. Osho was in silence for 3 ½ years. This did not preclude Sheela having nightly meetings with him. If we listened to the spin, these were all about spiritual guidance and not about the practical matters of running a commune. Sheela – who many would disbelieve (for good reason) on just about everything – maintains Osho gave her explicit instructions not only how to behave personally (in essence, be aggressive) but also how to deal with outside forces. If we can believe her on this, she was encouraged to use every means possible to establish the commune and prolong its survival.

At Shanti Bhadra has stated, when Sheela came back from meetings with Osho, she would outline what had been said. Of course, she could have been making it all up but this seems unlikely. Much of what was demanded of Sheela was inherently stressful. In trying to establish a large commune in a disused cattle ranch with rural zoning in the high desert of Oregon was always going to be a big ask. Although pre- warned the venture was doomed to failure, Sheela pressed ahead. She ignored advice that there were immense legal impediments to achieving what was intended. Many of us who lived and worked on the ranch were well aware of the obvious subterfuges – arranged marriages, pretending to be a farming community, bussing in thousands of homeless Americans to provide us with sufficient numbers to win elections. On the other hand, most of us remained totally unaware and ill-prepared for where these shifting sands would lead us. To extend the metaphor, we were building a castle in the sand and inviting opposition on many fronts. And this was well before things began to turn nasty.

Did Osho know?

My mind goes back to the Antelope takeover. In the documentary, Niren puts out the standard line which goes something like this: ‘These were houses that had been on the market for years. We offered to buy them. People sold them to us.’

The difficulty with this explanation is what it does not say. It does not say that from very early days we set out to intimidate these conservative, predominantly Christian, farming folk. There is ample evidence of this and we were undoubtedly successful. Our actions evoked fear, desperation and resentment. We never set out to be good neighbours and in my naiveté and distress I went to Sheela to protest. ‘It comes from Bhagwan,’ she said – and I backed off. Perhaps she was lying but I would be surprised.

After all, what would be the point of these nightly meetings? What would they talk about? Sheela’s meditation practices?

And then we come to another subterfuge. ‘Rajneeshism.’ After Sheela had left and Osho came down on her like a ton of bricks, he proclaimed that setting up a religion had been all her idea and nothing to do with him. As we sat listening to him (he had come out of silence by this stage), I doubt there were many in the audience who were convinced. But challenge we did not. To us, Rajneeshism was always a device – and in this case a very practical device. Unless Osho could show evidence he was a spiritual teacher, his immigration status was stuffed. So a mini-Rajneesh Bible was hastily assembled, daily ‘religious practices’ trotted out and a hierarchy of religious figureheads assembled.

Like much of what was happening, Rajneeshism wouldn’t pass what we call in Australia ‘the pub test’. (Typically used to discredit a politician who proclaims his or her innocence. Go into the front bar of a hotel and test the water. If there are snorts of derision amongst the punters, then that politician has failed the pub test.)

Let us, for a moment, give Osho the benefit of the doubt. In his nightly meetings with Sheela she would report to him about how the commune was getting on, the challenges she faced, what was happening with the overseas communes, how ‘his people’ were faring. She never asked for or received advice on what to do or how to handle any difficulties that came up. He would simply give his blessings and placed his trust in her to carry out ‘his work’.

It’s a possibility. We must entertain it. If this is the case, however, then it signalled a major departure from his role in Poona One. Why would he change course? A major shift has occurred. He has left India and moved to America. A commune is growing around him. He is the one with the vision. Wouldn’t he want to have input?

Every one of you reading this can draw your own conclusions. I think if you stand back and look at it dispassionately you would have to wonder why the spiritual master who was so hands-on in India had now removed himself completely and left the direction of his commune in the hands of his secretary. Given his track record, why on earth would he do that?

Much has been made of Sheela’s behaviour. Many of us will well remember Osho coming out in response to a question (I think it might have been from a journalist). The essence of his response was that Sheela had been far too meek and mild. He wanted her to go in harder. Allowing for the fact it was Osho at his mischievous best, the obvious conclusion is that he knew how she was carrying on in public. It’s hard not to draw the further conclusion he was telling her what to do and how to go about it, if not in detail but certainly as a broad-brush approach. {As a sidenote, Osho drove through the ranch each day. He could not fail to see guns, guard-houses, and in time the homeless influx. Did he enquire what was going on? Did he endorse it? Or did he suggest or acquiesce in these measures before Sheela went ahead in the first place?}

Niren says: ‘To be clear, Osho knew nothing of the criminal side’. From where does his certainty stem? How does he know what was said by Sheela to Osho and vice versa. How does he know other people have not informed Osho of what was planned and how does he know Osho did not acquiesce, endorse or otherwise encourage the kind of actions, criminal and otherwise, that took place? Here Niren is simply advocating. He is not speaking from his own knowledge although he may be well repeating what Osho has told him.

We were all gobsmacked when Osho fled the ranch. Niren said it was a ‘bad idea’. But perhaps it was the best possible outcome to break the cycle. It may also have averted bloodshed. Whatever the case, Osho’s departure signalled the end of Rajneeshpuram. What was the point in being there if there was no master?

We know now that Osho pleaded guilty to immigration fraud and part of the negotiated deal was that he left the country. Niren makes a big show of saying there was ‘no evidence’ to connect him with ‘Sheela’s crimes’. Again, this is a proposition that was never tested in court. Had the authorities really wanted to nail Osho to the wall, they could have spent time and money mounting a case that he was complicit in the illegal activities. Sheela could be put on the witness stand and questioned about what she had been told to do. Others who had direct contact with Osho could also have been subpoenaed and questioned. A pattern of past behaviour could have been established by procuring witnesses from Poona One – those who had direct access to Osho at one time or another and who were privy to his instructions. It could have been done.

In court, much would have been made of the chain of command. Osho’s position would be likened to that of the CEO of a major company. Could – or would - such a person remove themselves from all decision-making? Where did their responsibility begin and end? Could they blame all malfeasance and abhorrent behaviour on their underlings and wash their hands of responsibility? Such a scenario would not convince with the proverbial man and woman in the street. It certainly wouldn’t pass the pub test.

But the authorities knew that to mount such a case could be counter-productive. It would require Osho to remain in Oregon and it would inevitably result in a protest movement forming around him. He would be portrayed as a martyr and this could easily backfire on the authorities. So I imagine it was with some relief that they achieved their fundamental objective: get the man out of the country and his community will dissolve. And that is what happened.

If you are reading this now find yourself disagreeing (vehemently or otherwise) with my evaluation, let me pose three questions:

Firstly, to what extent, if any, do you believe that Osho was involved in directing and/or approving how the commune was to be run?

Secondly, to what extent did Osho set the tone for how Sheela and others designated sannyasins behaved towards the outside world?

Thirdly, does Osho, in your view, bear any responsibility for how events played out?

These questions are important. They don’t simply pertain to our experience around Osho. They are the kind of questions that come up in spiritual communities and around charismatic leaders. There is often a fiction the leader is merely involved with one’s spiritual growth. In fact, it usually turns out to be that they are deeply involved in the day-to-day decision-making and policy direction of the organisation that has grown up around them. This is not unexpected. After all, it is their ‘awakening’ or ‘enlightenment’ that has drawn followers in the first place. As a follower, one doesn’t want to second-guess the teacher. This can be fine when the teacher’s influence is confined to spiritual growth but it can be also an excuse for evasion, denial and downright dismissal of behaviours that would not be tolerated in ordinary society.

Coming back to Niren for a moment, I think he has drawn a very difficult straw. He was afforded access to Osho that few of us could dream of. He says Osho gave him the task of setting the record straight – and hence he has been working on a book for some time. Apart from anything else, he may feel a deep sense of loyalty and obligation. In such circumstances, he can hardly say or write anything ‘negative’. And he is not alone. Those who still revere Osho and attribute some kind of omniscience to him will find it difficult to be objective and dispassionate. Yes, love is blind – and love can be blinding.

At the beginning of this article I mention the behaviour of creative people. Sometimes their private lives look ugly. Yet their work endures. We make excuses for them because we are so taken with their art. Should we do likewise with spiritual teachers, especially if we feel we owe them great debt of gratitude? Should we ignore their behaviours and focus on the goal of personal transformation? In my view, we should not. If the ethical component is absent, it is bound to impact not only upon the teacher but upon his or her students. Don’t take my word for it. Test it out within your own experience. No matter how profound the guidance; no matter how deep the transmission, no matter how beautiful the words, behaviour matters. The confusion over Osho’s legacy is testament to this.

Wild Wild Country has touched many a raw nerve. It has taken us back into times that were wondrous, beautiful, life-changing – and I share with many others the gratitude that comes with all of this. Sadly, the documentary did not bring out the depth of our experiences or why we were there in the first place. It would take a different approach, with different filmmakers, to do this.

Yes, our dirty linen has been aired in public. We might cringe at the misrepresentations and inadequacies but we are obliged to confront the issues that have been displayed. To do otherwise is to ignore the shadow, the shadow as many have pointed out resides in all of us – including those who may have awakened to their true nature.

We are now getting older. Many of us have built on the insights that arose during our sannyasin years. Many of us have sat with other teachers and gleaned deeper understanding. Some remain devoted to Osho and have not needed to question his teachings and methods or to explore elsewhere. From an evolutionary standpoint, we are all developing in our own way, in our own time.
If nothing else, this documentary opens the door to opportunity. Opportunity for all of us, whether or not we hold diametrically opposing views, to share our convictions and our doubts, and offer each other as much honesty as we can. If Osho is to have a legacy, it cannot be ‘them’ and ‘us’. And if we are to become truly enriched, our exploration must include how we behave towards ourselves and towards one another.
∞∞∞∞

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