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normal as you are and now the whole world will call him abnormal, mad.
[Osho recounts how, after William James visited a mental asylum and saw one of his friends as an inmate there, he never really recovered; for the next twenty years until his death he was continuously haunted by the memory of the experience.]
Suicide is an even bigger problem than madness, because a madman can come back, but one who commits suicide is gone, gone forever. You will never meet [him] again; and just a few days ago he was here and one never thought about it. So life starts taking on the colour of an accident, arbitrariness, meaninglessness, and that creates fear. One feels angry: 'Why did he do it to me?' He has not done anything to you, he has simply committed suicide. But it feels as if he has done something to you. Why? And you cannot do anything about that because the man is gone. You cannot do any harm to him, so you feel impotent
You would like to fight with him, you would like to ask him, 'Why?' -- but now there is no answer, he is there no more. So he has made you helpless even in that way: you cannot even fight.
When we love a person he becomes part of our being. That's exactly what love is: becoming parts of each other, becoming members of each other. So when a person dies, a part of you dies with him. It is not simply a suicide of [him]; it is a partial death of [you] too. He has taken a part of you, the part that he has put inside you, that had become involved with you; he has taken that away. Now there is a blank, a hole; it hurts. So when you go back to the flat it hurts more because everything reminds you of it.
If death is natural then one can accept it; because what could poor [man] have done? One can forgive a natural death, mm? because he would have simply died; what could he have done about it? But he has committed suicide: he has done it to you. He has taken part of your being, he has destroyed you partially. He has not only committed suicide: he has murdered you. Just see that murdered part, and then there is rage.
And the third thing: when you love a person, death reveals the fact that you never loved enough. You could
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