by David Deva Goldberg

My daughter, Gyana, once told me that while we were at the Ranch, she had lived in fear every day that we would get kicked out because of my big mouth. It never did happen, but I suspect it came close.

I was busted from my job a number of times for not playing somebody’s game. I think the fact that I had skills that were badly needed to build the city saved me on more than one occasion. Each time I did get into a scrape I would lose certain material privileges, but instead of it all getting worse, I seemed to walk away with more than I had started with.

I remember one time when Sheela was angry at me and wanted to banish me to the greatest depths of hell she could imagine. She sent me to the Ranch school, Ko Hsuan, to take care of the kids. I spent my mornings diapering the youngest kids, and my afternoons teaching and taking them all to the lake. At night I slept in their trailer and told them stories until they fell asleep. It was the best job I had ever had in my life. Also, I’ve never had much of a sense of smell, so I was the perfect guy for the diapering!

Once, fairly early on at the Ranch, I was told by the powers that be that my department, Gora (Equipment Repair), was going to be merged with the audio department. Only one of the department coordinators would survive the change – the one that “played ball.” At the time I had my own trailer, car, Motorola radio, and secretary. Pretty posh! But I thought about it and realized that the position and privilege I had been given just weren’t what I had come for, and they were not worth paying for if it meant playing ball.

I got to see that I had really come to be in Osho’s buddhafield to receive as much of His transmission as possible, and not to create a dynasty. Playing to my own special interests all the time would have been a huge distraction and an impediment to the work to which I was truly devoted. For a moment, I saw myself as a split personality. I admit I was seduced by the respect and perks I got, but happily, it didn’t last long. Maybe I was lucky to have had it thrown so obviously in my face early on. Once I had to sit down and make a choice for either my inner journey or my outer comfort, there was no contest. So I handed in my resignation. It wasn’t accepted. I spent the next three months with my feet up on my desk, listening to Country and Western music and doing absolutely nothing. Eventually Vidya heard about it and came around to see me.

“So you really meant it?” she asked

“Obviously,” I said.

I was clearly cruisin’ for a bruisin’, but then one of the many miracles that often happened around Osho happened. The next day, Sheela bought a nightclub in Portland (Zorba’s) and she needed a band to play there as soon as possible. In my spare time, I had started a band with Milarepa, Gulabo, and Bodhi (later to become the Rajneesh Country Band). We had been practicing late at night, after work, and playing at Magdalena at dinnertime. We were still pretty rough, but we were the only game in town. So I went overnight from an unemployed coordinator with a very dim future to a country/rock icon. I played with the band for over a year, and even though we had to hold down regular Ranch jobs at the same time, it was heaven for us musicians. Also, the groupie thing was great!
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Living in Santa Fe, the home of Osho’s “Camels,” I’ve had frequent opportunities to discuss the various disappointments and general negativity of that time with certain local dromedaries. For a short time after I moved here, I wondered exactly what kind of a coward I was that I hadn’t stood up to confront every action that gave me that funny feeling in my gut.

What I have realized is this: I had never come to Osho with the intention of following my own path. The path I was practicing then was the path of “Surrender to the Master.” This was an important device for me, as I was not good at any kind of surrender before I met Osho. I had always been strong-willed, had lived alone, and had insisted on my way, and on being right. Learning about surrender in all the ways the commune and Osho had to offer, even going overboard at times, was a valuable lesson for me. But I believe surrender to a Master is not necessarily a way of life. It’s (hopefully) a means to understanding and awareness, and opens the door to allow one to experience surrender to all aspects of Existence.

So the dilemma was: Do I surrender or do I rebel? The decision I made for myself was to surrender, for the sake of learning, until it felt absolutely necessary to stop, and not to constantly jump in and out of surrender mode. General complaining and negativity never suited me, since I always felt I was in control of my decision to stay or leave Osho. I was either in or I was out – I’m not one to sweat the small stuff anyhow. Also, I was never under the illusion that the commune was, or should have been, perfect. The world outside the commune certainly had its Yin and Yang, and even though we lived with an enlightened Master, the commune was made up of just ordinary people. (Some, it seems, were not aware of this!) So a certain amount of inequity, negativity, error, and doubt were to be expected.

But there did come a point for me, on a few occasions, when my intuition and need for action outweighed my commitment to “practice” (surrender) and I made the choice to take a stand. I don’t remember feeling so much anger or negativity around my own rebellion, as just being adamant that the time had come to act. Perhaps this is another reason why I was never ejected from the commune. I don’t remember any one particular instance where I was accused of being “negative” (although that was a common ploy used in the commune and probably did happen to me as well).

I guess negativity felt like inaction to me, rather than action. If I felt strongly enough about something, I would be more apt to just do it and then accept the consequences. I always felt I was making my own choice to stay or go, and so any disagreement I had with the commune leaders was more of a strongly considered position than a negative reaction.

I think rebellion and negativity are very different. Rebellion is a choice that comes from knowledge and intuition, while negativity is a reaction coming from disillusionment, disappointment, and not having one’s expectations met.

For me, if I had immediately started confronting every issue at the Ranch, there would have been no surrender and I would have missed. (Plus, Gyana and I would certainly have been thrown out!)

I do feel that my experience with Osho helped me to begin to understand surrender, at least in a small way. And it has now allowed me to come to a point where this particular device is not my primary work anymore, but a new work – that of integration – has begun.

Perhaps the most important lesson I’ve learned is to better recognize the moment where I can choose the appropriate response, between surrender and initiative. It seems to be easier for me to find if there is no anger. Now, many years later, this kind of situation, where I have to trust my intuition and take a stand, isn’t always as life threatening as it once seemed in the commune. But it happens frequently, in many small ways. These are the moments that define who, how, and where I am – and will be. Because of some of the mistakes I made, and the hard lessons I learned, in the commune, I feel I have so much more control over my destiny now.

As I read over this article, it seems as though I have been describing a resolute person who saw his path clearly in those times. Actually, although now I have a perspective that makes it all seem simpler, I do remember many times of self-doubt and second-guessing when I had to go left before I could go right.

Everyone has his or her own timetable, as Osho knew. Whenever possible, He would leave us, on our own recognizance, to work things out at our own pace. Hence, not everyone’s time to rebel was the same. That was what made living around Osho so great. At any instant, you could see all aspects of evolution uncoiling around you – sort of a window into real life.

ddgoldberg@telactive.net