A reaction is out of the past; a response is out of the present. You react out of the past old patterns. Somebody insults you, suddenly the old mechanism starts functioning. In the past people have insulted you, and you have behaved in a certain way; you behave in the same way again. You are not responding to this insult and this person, you are simply repeating an old habit. You have not looked at this person and this new insult—it has a different flavor—you are just functioning like a robot. You have a certain mechanism inside you, you push the button, you say, "This man has insulted me," and you react. The reaction is not to the real situation, it is something projected. You have seen the past in this man. It happened.
Buddha was sitting under a tree talking to his disciples. A man came and spit on his face. He wiped it off, and he asked the man, "What next? What do you want to say next?" The man was a little puzzled because he himself never expected that when you spit on somebody's face, he will ask, "What next?" He had had no such experience in his past. He had insulted people and they had become angry and they had reacted. Or if they were cowards and weaklings, they had smiled, trying to bribe the man. But Buddha was like neither; he was not angry nor in any way offended, nor in any way cowardly. But just matter-of-factly he said, "What next?" There was no reaction on his part.
Buddha's disciples became angry, they reacted. His closest disciple, Ananda, said, "This is too much, and we cannot tolerate it. You keep your teaching with you, and we will just show this man that he cannot do what he has done. He has to be punished for it. Otherwise everybody will start doing things like this."
Buddha said, "You keep silent. He has not offended me, but you are offending me. He is new, a stranger. He must have heard from people something about me, that 'this man is an atheist, a dangerous man who is throwing people off their track, a revolutionary, a corrupter.' And he may have formed some idea, a notion of me. He has not spit on me, he has spit on his notion, he has spit on his idea of me—because he does not know me at all, so how can he spit on me?
"If you think on it deeply," Buddha said, "he has spit on his own mind. I am not part of it, and I can see that this poor man must have something else to say because this is a way of saying something—spitting is a way of saying something. There are moments when you feel that language is impotent— in deep love, in intense anger, in hate, in prayer. There are intense moments when language is impotent. Then you have to do something. When you are in deep love and you kiss the person or embrace the person, what are you doing? You are saying something. When you are angry, intensely angry, you hit the person, you spit on him, you are saying something. I can understand him. He must have something more to say, that's why I'm asking, 'What next?' "
The man was even more puzzled! And Buddha said to his disciples, "I am more offended by you because you know me, and you have lived for years with me, and still you react."
Puzzled, confused, the man returned home. He could not sleep the whole night. When you see a buddha, it is difficult, impossible, to sleep again the way you used to sleep before. Again and again he was haunted by the experience. He could not explain it to himself, what had happened. He was trembling all over and perspiring. He had never come across such a man; he shattered his whole mind and his whole pattern, his whole past.
The next morning he was back there. He threw himself at Buddha's feet. Buddha asked him again, "What next? This, too, is a way of saying something that cannot be said in lan-guage. When you come and touch my feet, you are saying something that cannot be said ordinarily, for which all words are a little narrow; it cannot be contained in them."
Buddha said, "Look, Ananda, this man is again here, he is saying something. This man is a man of deep emotions."
The man looked at Buddha and said, "Forgive me for what I did yesterday."Buddha said, "Forgive? But I am not the same man to whom you did it. The Ganges goes on flowing; it is never the same Ganges again. Every man is a river. The man you spit upon is no longer here—I look just like him, but I am not the same, much has happened in these twenty-four hours! The river has flowed so much. So I cannot forgive you because I have no grudge against you.
"And you also are new. I can see you are not the same man who came yesterday because that man was angry—he was anger! He spit, whereas you are bowing at my feet, touching my feet—how can you be the same man? You are not the same man, so let us forget about it. Those two people—the man who spit, and the man on whom he spit—both are nomore. Come closer. Let us talk of something else."
This is response.
Reaction is out of the past. If you react out of old habits, out of mind, then you are not responding. To be responsive is to be totally alive in this moment, here now. Response is a beautiful phenomenon, it is life. Reaction is dead, ugly, rotten; it is a corpse. Ninety-nine per cent of the time you react and you call it response. Rarely it happens in your life
that you respond; but whenever it happens, you have a glimpse. Whenever it happens, the door to the unknown opens.
Go back to your home and look at your wife with response, not with reaction. I see people, they may have lived with a woman for thirty years, forty years, and they have stopped looking at her! They know she is the "old lady," the old woman they think they know. But the river has been flowing all the time. This woman is not the same one to whom they got married. That is a past phenomenon, that woman exists nowhere now; this is totally a new woman.
Every moment you are being born anew. Every moment you die, and every moment you are born. But have you looked lately at your wife, your mother, your father, your friend? You have stopped looking because you think they are all old, and what is the point of looking at them. Go back and look again with fresh eyes, as you would look at a stranger, and you will be surprised at how much this old woman has changed.
Tremendous changes happen every day. It is a flux. Everything goes on flowing, nothing is frozen. But the mind is a dead thing, it is a frozen phe-nomenon. If you act from the frozen mind, you live a dead life. You don't live really—you are already in the grave.
Drop reactions. And allow more and more responses. To be responsive is to be responsible. To be responsive, to be responding, is to be sensitive. But sensitive to here and now.
OSHO
Buddha was sitting under a tree talking to his disciples. A man came and spit on his face. He wiped it off, and he asked the man, "What next? What do you want to say next?" The man was a little puzzled because he himself never expected that when you spit on somebody's face, he will ask, "What next?" He had had no such experience in his past. He had insulted people and they had become angry and they had reacted. Or if they were cowards and weaklings, they had smiled, trying to bribe the man. But Buddha was like neither; he was not angry nor in any way offended, nor in any way cowardly. But just matter-of-factly he said, "What next?" There was no reaction on his part.
Buddha's disciples became angry, they reacted. His closest disciple, Ananda, said, "This is too much, and we cannot tolerate it. You keep your teaching with you, and we will just show this man that he cannot do what he has done. He has to be punished for it. Otherwise everybody will start doing things like this."
Buddha said, "You keep silent. He has not offended me, but you are offending me. He is new, a stranger. He must have heard from people something about me, that 'this man is an atheist, a dangerous man who is throwing people off their track, a revolutionary, a corrupter.' And he may have formed some idea, a notion of me. He has not spit on me, he has spit on his notion, he has spit on his idea of me—because he does not know me at all, so how can he spit on me?
"If you think on it deeply," Buddha said, "he has spit on his own mind. I am not part of it, and I can see that this poor man must have something else to say because this is a way of saying something—spitting is a way of saying something. There are moments when you feel that language is impotent— in deep love, in intense anger, in hate, in prayer. There are intense moments when language is impotent. Then you have to do something. When you are in deep love and you kiss the person or embrace the person, what are you doing? You are saying something. When you are angry, intensely angry, you hit the person, you spit on him, you are saying something. I can understand him. He must have something more to say, that's why I'm asking, 'What next?' "
The man was even more puzzled! And Buddha said to his disciples, "I am more offended by you because you know me, and you have lived for years with me, and still you react."
Puzzled, confused, the man returned home. He could not sleep the whole night. When you see a buddha, it is difficult, impossible, to sleep again the way you used to sleep before. Again and again he was haunted by the experience. He could not explain it to himself, what had happened. He was trembling all over and perspiring. He had never come across such a man; he shattered his whole mind and his whole pattern, his whole past.
The next morning he was back there. He threw himself at Buddha's feet. Buddha asked him again, "What next? This, too, is a way of saying something that cannot be said in lan-guage. When you come and touch my feet, you are saying something that cannot be said ordinarily, for which all words are a little narrow; it cannot be contained in them."
Buddha said, "Look, Ananda, this man is again here, he is saying something. This man is a man of deep emotions."
The man looked at Buddha and said, "Forgive me for what I did yesterday."Buddha said, "Forgive? But I am not the same man to whom you did it. The Ganges goes on flowing; it is never the same Ganges again. Every man is a river. The man you spit upon is no longer here—I look just like him, but I am not the same, much has happened in these twenty-four hours! The river has flowed so much. So I cannot forgive you because I have no grudge against you.
"And you also are new. I can see you are not the same man who came yesterday because that man was angry—he was anger! He spit, whereas you are bowing at my feet, touching my feet—how can you be the same man? You are not the same man, so let us forget about it. Those two people—the man who spit, and the man on whom he spit—both are nomore. Come closer. Let us talk of something else."
This is response.
Reaction is out of the past. If you react out of old habits, out of mind, then you are not responding. To be responsive is to be totally alive in this moment, here now. Response is a beautiful phenomenon, it is life. Reaction is dead, ugly, rotten; it is a corpse. Ninety-nine per cent of the time you react and you call it response. Rarely it happens in your life
that you respond; but whenever it happens, you have a glimpse. Whenever it happens, the door to the unknown opens.
Go back to your home and look at your wife with response, not with reaction. I see people, they may have lived with a woman for thirty years, forty years, and they have stopped looking at her! They know she is the "old lady," the old woman they think they know. But the river has been flowing all the time. This woman is not the same one to whom they got married. That is a past phenomenon, that woman exists nowhere now; this is totally a new woman.
Every moment you are being born anew. Every moment you die, and every moment you are born. But have you looked lately at your wife, your mother, your father, your friend? You have stopped looking because you think they are all old, and what is the point of looking at them. Go back and look again with fresh eyes, as you would look at a stranger, and you will be surprised at how much this old woman has changed.
Tremendous changes happen every day. It is a flux. Everything goes on flowing, nothing is frozen. But the mind is a dead thing, it is a frozen phe-nomenon. If you act from the frozen mind, you live a dead life. You don't live really—you are already in the grave.
Drop reactions. And allow more and more responses. To be responsive is to be responsible. To be responsive, to be responding, is to be sensitive. But sensitive to here and now.
OSHO
