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I was unpacking some boxes, putting books and such into my new cabinet... took out something one of my brother's girlfriends once sent me (they were sannyasins). It is a story, a fairy-tale, set in the world of Osho. She put little red confetti hearts in the pages, so a few always fall out when I handle it. I don't think I've read it since the first time I got it, and I did not remember the story, so I decided to read it now again.
It starts,
"It happened, in the World of Osho, that there were two spirits who played together, as dolphins do, dancing in a warm, sensual sea.
They lived in dreams of white marble waterfalls and orchids and were awoken each morning by the chattering of green parrots. Their life was a feast."
I get to the middle of the last page, and read this line:
"It was January 19th, 1990. Osho died."
And I think to myself, wait, isn't today... yep, January 19.
It starts,
"It happened, in the World of Osho, that there were two spirits who played together, as dolphins do, dancing in a warm, sensual sea.
They lived in dreams of white marble waterfalls and orchids and were awoken each morning by the chattering of green parrots. Their life was a feast."
I get to the middle of the last page, and read this line:
"It was January 19th, 1990. Osho died."
And I think to myself, wait, isn't today... yep, January 19.