Author's Note: This essay emerged from a philosophical conversation I had with an AI. The questions and struggles are entirely my own.
For a long time, I have lived in a state of "gray" nihilism. I found myself at a point where I didn't want to live anymore, feeling that the world was a cycle of meaningless insanity.
I wasn't dramatic about it. I didn't wake up every day wanting to die. It was quieter than that—a persistent heaviness. Everything felt like performance: going to work, smiling at neighbors, pretending tomorrow mattered. I turned to Osho to find an exit.
Despair
I began by asking Osho what he tells someone who has lost the will to live. His response wasn't the typical "cheer up" advice. He told me that my despair was actually a sign of intelligence—that only those who see through the "toys" of society feel this way. He argued that I didn't actually want to kill my body; I wanted to kill my ego, the "me" that is tired of social roles, expectations and desires. He told me,
"Don't destroy the house; just change the inhabitant."
The "me" that wanted out—was it really just exhausted from pretending? From performing the role of the successful person, the good son, the reliable employee? What if the problem wasn't life itself, but the role I am playing?
Love
But I had practical doubts. How does someone with a wife and kids seek this kind of freedom without abandoning them? Isn't that just cheating & abandoning—using philosophy as an excuse to escape responsibility?
Osho says that "attachment" is a form of ownership and fear, while "relating" is a living freedom. He says that one does not need to leave their family physically, but need to "divorce" the idea that they own them. He suggests one should live as a "guest" in their own home, loving their children as independent souls rather than as their property.
I pushed back. That sounded beautiful in theory, but what did it actually mean? To watch my daughter grow up and not feel like she was mine? To love my wife without needing her to stay?
The more I sat with it, the more I realized how much of my "love" was actually fear—fear of being left, fear of losing control, fear that without them I would disappear. Osho was asking me to love without that fear. To see each person as whole unto themselves, not as pieces of my identity.
Expectations
Then I argued that living without expectations, without worrying, felt impossible. If I am working on something I expect to get good results out of it, if I am in a relationship I expect it to be a good one. If life is "pointless," why do anything? Why show up? Why be faithful? Why try?
Osho says "pointlessness" is actually freedom. He distinguished between "Work as a Game" (where you suffer for a result) and "Work as Play" (where the joy is in the act itself). He told me that if I am only loyal to avoid being cheated on or for some other reason, I am a policeman, not a lover. He challenged me to act in "Totality"—to do something because the doing itself is juice, even if I knew I would fail in the end.
I thought about all the times I'd done things just for the outcome. Been kind because I wanted something back. Loved because I needed to be loved in return. Every action was a transaction, a gamble.
What if I could work simply because I enjoyed the work? Love because loving felt good, regardless of what came back? It sounded impossible. But also—liberating.
The 24/7 Fear
This brought me to my deepest struggle: my health. I live with a constant hum of anxiety, a background static that never quite turns off. Every headache is a tumor. Every odd sensation is the beginning of the end. I asked Osho how I could possibly let go of health anxiety and the 24/7 fear of the "uncertain." I told him I was scared of life all the time.
Osho's response was a lesson in "Witnessing." He told me that the "Watcher" inside me is never sick, even if the body is. He argued that trying to make the "uncertain" certain is the root of my madness. He said,
"Insecurity is the only security."
He told me to stop "bridging the chasm" before I reached it—to stop suffering from a disease I don't even have yet.
But I wasn't convinced. I pressed him on the reality of clinical issues—anxiety, sleep disorders, physical pain. How is someone in actual physical distress supposed to live without worrying? When your heart is racing at 2 AM and you can't catch your breath, how do you just "witness" that?
His answer was to "Relax into the unrest." He said my suffering wasn't the insomnia or the anxiety itself, but my resistance to it. He told me that if I can't sleep, I should just enjoy the silence of the night rather than fighting for sleep. He suggested that by accepting the "unrest" as a guest, the "monster" loses its power.
I wanted to dismiss this as spiritual bypassing. But I also recognized the truth in it. How much of my suffering was the panic about the panic? The fear of the fear? The sleepless nights I'd spent not just unable to sleep, but furious at myself for being unable to sleep?
I still don't know if I can do what he's suggesting.
What I Actually Feel
Finally, I questioned whether "doing what I feel" wasn't just what I was already doing. Osho corrected me. He said most of my "feelings" are actually reactions—borrowed from my parents, society, or my fear of being a failure. He told me that once I clear the noise through meditation, I might find that my "True Feeling" has nothing to do with what I've been told to want.
How much of what I "want" is actually just what I think I should want? The career path I chose because it impressed people. The fear of being seen as lazy, weak, unsuccessful.
Strip all that away, and what's left? I genuinely don't know yet. But I'm starting to get curious.
The Watcher
I realize that I have been a prisoner of "What If." What if I get sick? What if I fail? What if they leave? What if none of it matters?
I am learning to be the "Watcher" within the storm.
I'm not fixed. I'm not enlightened. Just this morning I woke up with an old dread. But something has shifted.
The gray nihilism hasn't disappeared. But it's no longer the only color I can see.