Osho: The First Buddha in the Dental Chair
$29.95
In stock
SKU
9780615632230
This book provides insider stories of Osho, living in his house in Poona and Rajneeshpuram, written firsthand by his personal dentist. It is a unique document, funny, profound, giving an exquisite, authentic glimpse of an enlightened Master working on his disciples.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=llOFqBlSsTA
This book provides insider stories of Osho, written firsthand by his personal dentist, living in his house in Poona, India and Rajneeshpuram, USA. It is a unique document; funny, profound, giving an exquisite authentic glimpse of an enlightened Master working on his disciples. You, Devageet, will be my note-taker. I will speak from the dental chair. No Buddha has ever done such a thing but you know me; I am a little crazy. One day these notes that you take from your dental chair will become a beautiful book. It will not be like my other books. -Osho Originally trained in dental surgery in Edinburgh, Devageet was a family man practicing his profession, dentistry, in England and Australia until his mid-thirties. His search for inner truth and meaning grew, taking him in many directions. He explored Art, the psychologies of Freud, Jung, Adler and others, the philosophies of the East and the West, along with Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Zen, Sikhism, Sufism, Taoism, fasting and running. Using these methods he became informed but not transformed. Meeting Osho in April 1976 Devageet immediately knew that he had found his spiritual master. He was given a new name, and a new life. For over 12 years, until Osho left his physical body, in January 1990, Devageet was privileged to be Oshos personal dental surgeon, during which time the master in the dental chair operated on his dentist. He also asked Devageet to write two books: Osho, The First Buddha in the Dental Chair: Amusing Anecdotes By His Personal Dentist; and, A Subjective Account of My Life With Osho.
Publisher: New Earth Records
| More Info | Ecerpt from the first chapter The First Time Once, after a hypnotherapy group, in Osho’s ashram in Poona, India in 1977, Osho asked me how it had been. I told him I had experienced real terror, and wonderful fantasies. "Which was real?" he asked. I thought briefly before answering, "The fear was real. The fantasies were too good to be true.” Can you see, Devageet, how mind rejects the beautiful and the good as unreal. It condemns them as mere imagination because they have never before happened to you. Yet that same mind never questions the reality of any negative experience. Your pain and your misery are never questioned; they are always accepted as real, utterly real. Why? Because mind is familiar with suffering; that is its reality. Mind never allows the truth of any positive experience. Mind is conditioned, trained by harsh experience, to only see reality in the negative. Your brain is a bio-computer programmed for your survival. It does not see truth. It is not concerned with truth. It functions only to keep your body alive. The brain is biological. Truth, beauty, bliss, love, joy and harmony … they have no survival value as far as the mind is concerned, hence it dismisses them as unreal, valueless. Their truth can be seen only by the heart, not by the mind, and the mind goes on denying the realities of the heart as mere fantasy. It was a sunny morning in 1977. I was breakfasting happily on bread and banana while sitting with Sagaro, my girlfriend, in the tranquility that follows Osho’s morning discourse. … Every aspect of living in Poona and working in the ashram was exotic and fun. I would regularly catch myself thinking, "If only my mother could see me now!" Arriving back at the ashram I made my way to Lao Tzu Gate, where Osho lived. The gate guard looked up in mild curiosity, clearly waiting for me to explain myself. I stayed silent. “You want something, Devageet?” he asked pointedly. “Err, I’m meeting Vivek,” I said, wondering if this breached our secrecy arrangement. “Has she made an appointment with you?” he asked, knowing the absurdity of the question: what could Vivek possibly have to say to me? “In a way,” I answered. He was growing irritated with my hesitancy. “Well, did she or didn’t she?” “Yes, she did.” I said, wishing she would come and save me from this ordeal. At this point Vivek walked out of a small side door a few yards behind the guard. Hearing her steps as she approached the gate, he hurried to unbolt it, allowing me access. I entered the sacred precincts, and Vivek led me to the shoe rack beside the door from which she had emerged. I heard the gate creak behind us as it clanged shut. I took off my Birkenstocks and put on the socks Vivek had instructed me to bring for use in the house corridors. My heart was pounding. My mind was strangely blank. She led me inside, waiting briefly as I hopped from one foot to the other while struggling to put on my socks. I was almost finished when she walked into the house, clearly expecting me to follow. My first impression of Lao Tzu House was its immense silence. Then I took in its shining cleanliness. As I walked, I saw thousands of books neatly standing in bookcases that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. I followed as Vivek led me along a red-tiled corridor, passing several doors along the way. Through one open doorway, I noticed gleaming stainless steel pots and pans, and marble counters. I guessed it was Osho’s kitchen. Passing another door, almost opposite the kitchen, I saw the household entrance to Chuang Tzu Auditorium, where Osho gave nightly darshan, and occasionally public morning discourses, when he wasn’t using the newly-built, but as yet unfinished, Buddha Hall Auditorium. I was backstage in Osho’s house and about to meet my Master face to face. I was trembling, more with excitement than nervousness. The corridor opened into an atrium, with a curved marble staircase on my left, leading upwards to the first floor. In front of me were two big wooden, outer doors, and on my right, two floor-to-ceiling plate glass doors. Vivek stopped before the glass doors. She instructed me to remove my socks, then pushed open the doors and ushered me through. Inside, as I looked to my left, I noticed Osho’s simple, elegant black, hand-made sandals placed carefully outside a shining, plain wooden door. What little thinking I was still capable of promptly deserted me at the sight of his sandals. I heard Vivek tell me that I should remain standing where I was until I was called. I nodded dumbly. She opened the wooden door and disappeared inside. Within a few seconds her head reappeared and she motioned me to enter Osho’s room. The room was like none I had ever seen before. The first glance showed me floor and walls made of warm, pinkish marble, tiger-striped with deep, thick veins of grey. The only furniture was a very large, immaculate bed with two beautifully designed bedside lamps. On the left was a complete wall of rosewood-fronted, fitted wardrobes. Vivek was standing on my right in a large, square, bay-windowed part of the room. Osho was next to her, sitting in a high-backed armchair. He was smiling, his eyes twinkling. I namasted, and he returned my greeting. “Hello Geet,” he said softly. My first and only thought was, “That’s not my name. My name is Devageet.” As if reading my tottering mind, he then said, “You have come to examine my teeth, Devageet?” More a statement than a question. My many first impressions were superimposed on each other. I noticed that his head was shinier than I had ever seen it, as if there was light shining directly on it, although the venetian blinds covering the windows were closed. … I moved to the back, behind his chair, and opened the rolled towel containing my dental mirror, tweezers, and probe. Leaning over his right shoulder, with his head almost beneath my left arm, in a classic old-style dental posture, I tapped and prodded my way around Osho’s teeth. He sat unusually still, nothing moved at all. His eyelids were closed and the large eyes beneath were utterly immobile. His tongue was motionless throughout. He never even swallowed. Everything in his mouth was pink and healthy, young, responsive and alive, but astonishingly unmoving. It was remarkable. As I worked I became aware that the silence in the room had deepened. After completing my examination I said, “I’ve looked at your teeth, Osho.” He opened his large, shining eyes slowly, and asked, “Can you fix them?” “Yes, there’s not much that needs doing.” I replied. He asked, “When?” Somewhat confused at the speed things were moving, I answered, “Now, if you like.” Vivek, following this rapid exchange, broke in saying, “Okay Devageet. We will have to make special arrangements before fixing an actual time and date.” Osho smiled, inclining his head a little, and then said, “You let Vivek take care. She will arrange everything.” I gathered my dental instruments together in the towel, folding the dental chart carefully. Vivek took the penlight from his mouth. She turned to me and, taking my hand gently but firmly, led me towards the door, saying, “You wait next door in my room, and I will come in a few minutes and we can discuss the next steps.” … Vivek then led me back along the red corridor and out into the pathway. As I put on my sandals before she left, she said, with a twinkle, “Remember, our little secret!” Her words were still echoing around my brain as the Lao Tzu Gate guard slid the iron bolt to let me out. I was back in the ashram world. Vasumati, one of the ashram therapists was passing. She looked at me, gasped, flushed red, and then screamed, “Devageet! You’ve just seen Osho!” I was shocked. My befuddled brain took valuable microseconds to overcome the blast of disbelief and alarm at her words. “Ssshh!” I whispered in horror. “Be quiet! It’s a secret. Nobody must know. And … how did you know?” I said in her ear. “It’s obvious. It’s written all over your face!” Only later did I realise that sharing a secret with Vasumati had the same effect as putting it on national televisi |
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| Author | Swami Devageet |
| ISBN | 9780615632230 |
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