“Look at that boat,” the ferryman said. “Once, a Zen master was crossing a lake in an empty boat. Another boat came crashing into him. The master was furious — he shouted, he cursed. But when he looked closer, he saw the boat was empty. His anger vanished instantly. Who was there to be angry at?”
The ferryman continued: “You chant Buddham Sharanam Gacchami as if the Buddha is a person outside you. But Osho’s Buddha is not Gautama the prince. Osho’s Buddha is your own awareness when the ‘I’ disappears. To go for refuge to the Buddha means to drop the ego — the one who thinks ‘I am going, I am seeking, I am suffering.’” buddham saranam gacchami osho
One evening, Raghava sat by the river, frustrated. “I have taken refuge in the Buddha a million times,” he cried to the sky, “yet I remain the same! Where is the transformation Osho speaks of? Where is the buddha in me?” “Look at that boat,” the ferryman said
He pointed to an old wooden boat tied to the shore. It was empty, rocking gently with the waves. The master was furious — he shouted, he cursed
Long ago, in a small village on the banks of the Ganges, lived a man named Raghava. He was a scholar of scriptures, proud of his knowledge, yet deeply restless. Every morning, he would chant, "Buddham Sharanam Gacchami" — I go to the Buddha for refuge. But his voice was mechanical, a ritual without roots. He had read thousands of sutras, yet anger flared in him at the slightest insult. He knew the theory of compassion, yet envy gnawed at his heart whenever his neighbor prospered.