Stories for Transformation

THESE ARE STORIES TOLD BY OSHO TO HIS DISCIPLES 

Sugar and Salt Makes the Taste

I have heard an ancient parable — must be very ancient because God used to live on the earth in those days. Slowly slowly, he became very tired of man, because people would torture him continuously. In the middle of the night, somebody would knock and say, “Why have you done this? Why not do it this way?” Everybody was advising; everybody was praying and their prayers were contradictory. A man would come and would say,

“Today let there be sun, because I am going to wash my clothes.”

And somebody else would come and he would say, “Today let there be rain, because I am going to plant trees.” Now what to do? They were driving God mad!

He had to disappear from the earth. He had to escape just to survive. He had to become invisible.

One day a man came, a farmer, an old farmer, and he said, “Look, you may be God, and you may have created the world, but one thing I must say to you: you are not a farmer, and you don’t know even the ABC of farming. And your whole nature and the functioning of your nature is so absurd, and this I say out of my whole life’s experience. You have to learn something.”

God said, “What’s your advice?”

The farmer said, “You give me one year’s time, and just let things be according to me, and see what happens. There will be no poverty left!”

God was willing and one year was given to the farmer. Now it was according to his will that everything was happening. Naturally, he asked the best, he thought only of the best — no thunder, no strong winds, no dangers for the crop. Everything comfortable, cozy, and he was very happy. The wheat was growing so high! No dangers were there, no hindrances were there; everything was moving according to HIS desire. When he wanted sun, there was sun; when he wanted rain, there was rain, and AS much as he wanted. In the old days, sometimes it rained too much, and the rivers would be flooded, and the crops would be destroyed; and sometimes it would not rain enough and the land would remain dry, and the crops would die… and sometimes something else, and sometimes something else. It was rare, very rare, that things were right. But this year everything was put right, mathematically right.

The wheat was growing so high that the farmer was very happy. He used to go to God and say, “Look! This time the crops will be such that for ten years if people don’t work there will be enough food.”

But when the crops were cut, there was no wheat inside. He was surprised — what happened?! He asked God, “What happened? what went wrong?”

God said, “Because there was no challenge, because there was no difficulty, because there was no conflict, no friction, because all was good, you avoided all that was bad, the wheat remained impotent. A little struggle is a must. Storms are needed, thunder , lightning is needed. They shake up the soul inside the wheat.”

This parable is of immense value. If you are just happy and happy and happy, happiness will lose all meaning. You will become tired of it. You will be fed up with it. You remain interested in happiness because there are sad moments too. Those sad moments keep you interested in happiness. You cannot go on eating only sugar and sugar and sugar — something salted is a must, otherwise all taste will be lost.

Osho –  ”The Perfect Master”

Why are you searching for bliss in the outside world?

Rabia el Adawiya is one of the rarest women in the whole human history. There are only a few names that can be compared to Rabia, but still she remains rare, even among these few names — Meera, Theresa, Laila. These are the few names. But Rabia still remains rare. She is a KOHINOOR, the most precious woman ever born. Her insight is immense.

Hasan is also a famous mystic but on a very much lower scale. And there are many stories about Hasan and Rabia.

One day Rabia is sitting inside her hut. It is early morning, and Hasan comes to see her. And the sun is rising and the birds are singing and the trees are dancing. It is a really beautiful morning.

And he calls forth from the outside, ‘Rabia, what are you doing inside? Come out! God has given birth to such a beautiful morning. What are you doing inside?’

And Rabia laughs and she says, ‘Hasan, outside is only God’s creation, inside is God himself. Why don’t you come in? Yes, the morning is beautiful, but it is nothing compared with the Creator who creates all the mornings. Yes, those birds are singing beautifully, but they are nothing compared with the song of God. That happens only when you are within. Why don’t you come in? Are you not yet finished with the without, with the outside? When will you be able to come in?’

Such stories, small, but of tremendous significance….

Rabia searching for needle

One evening people saw her searching for something on the street in front of her hut. They gathered together — the poor old woman was searching for something. They asked, ‘What is the matter? What are you searching for?’ And she said, ‘I have lost my needle.’ So they also started helping.

Then somebody asked, ‘Rabia, the street is big and night is just descending and soon there will be no light and a needle is such a small thing — unless you tell us exactly where it has fallen it will be difficult to find.’

Rabia said, ‘Don’t ask that. Don’t bring that question up at all. If you want to help me, help, otherwise don’t help, but don’t bring up that question.’

They all stopped — all those who were searching — and they said. ‘What is the matter? Why can’t we ask this? If you don’t say where it has fallen, how can we be of any help to you?’

She said, ‘The needle has fallen inside my house.’

They said, ‘Then have you gone mad? If the needle has fallen inside the house why are you searching here?’

And she said, ‘Because the light is here. Inside the house there is no light.’

Somebody said, ‘Even if the light is here, how can we find the needle if it has not been lost here? The right way would be to bring light inside the house so you can find the needle.’

And Rabia laughed, ‘You are such clever people about small things. When are you going to use your intelligence for your inner life? I have seen you all searching outside and I know perfectly well, I know from my own experience that that which you are searching for is lost within. The bliss that you are searching for, you have lost within — and you are searching outside. And your logic is that because your eyes can see easily outside, and your hands can grope easily outside, because the light is outside, that’s why you are searching outside.

‘If you are really intelligent,’ Rabia said, ‘then use your intelligence. why are you searching for bliss in the outside world? Have you lost it there?’

They stood dumbfounded and Rabia disappeared into her house.

Osho – “Sufis: The People of the Path”

Cherry Blossom and the Misty Moon

It happened about a very famous Zen woman, her name was Rengetsu…. Very few women have attained to the Zen ultimate. This one is one of those rare women.

She was on a pilgrimage, and she came to a village at sunset and begged for lodging for the night, but the villagers slammed their doors. They were against Zen. Zen is so revolutionary, so utterly rebellious, that it is very difficult to accept it. By accepting it you are going to be transformed; by accepting it you will be passing through a fire, you will never be the same again.

So traditional people have always been against ALL that it true in religion. Tradition is all that is untrue in religion. So those must have been traditional Buddhists in the town, and they didn’t allow this woman to stay in the town; they threw her out. It was a cold night, and the old woman with no lodging… and hungry. She had to make a cherry tree in the fields her shelter. It was really cold, and she could not sleep well. And it was dangerous too — wild animals and all.

At midnight she awoke — because of too much cold — and saw, as it were, in the spring night sky, the fully opened cherry blossoms laughing to the misty moon. Overcome with the beauty, she got up and made a reverence in the direction of the village….

This is what TATHATA IS.

Overcome with the beauty, she got up and made a reverence in the direction of the village:

Through their kindness in refusing me lodging I found myself beneath the blossoms on the night of this misty moon.

She feels grateful. With great gratitude she thanks those people who refused her lodging, otherwise she would be sleeping under an ordinary roof, and she would have missed this blessing — these cherry blossoms, and this whispering with the misty moon, and this silence of the night, this utter silence of the night. She is not angry, she accepts it. Not only accepts it, welcomes it — she feels grateful.

A man becomes a Buddha the moment he accepts all that life brings with gratitude. He is on the Way, he is on Tao; and he IS becoming meditative.

Osho – “Zen the Path of Paradox”

Master of Silence

People are so foolish. Either they are deceived by words or they are deceived by silence — but they are deceived either way.

There is a famous Zen story. I would like to tell it to you.

A monk called himself the ‘Master of Silence’. He was actually a fraud and had no genuine understanding. To sell his humbug Zen, he had two eloquent attendant monks to answer questions for him; but he himself never uttered a word, as if to show his inscrutable ‘silent Zen’.

One day, during the absence of his two attendants, a pilgrim monk came to him and asked: “Master, what is the Buddha?” Not knowing what to do or to answer, in his confusion he could only look desperately round in all directions — east and west, here and there — for his missing mouthpieces.

The pilgrim monk, apparently satisfied, then asked him: “What is the dharma, sir?” He could not answer this question either, so he first looked up at the ceiling and then down at the floor, calling for help from heaven and hell.

Again the monk asked: “What is Zen?” Now the Master of Silence could do nothing but close his eyes.

Finally the monk asked: “What is blessing?” In desperation. the Master of Silence helplessly spread his hands to the questioner as a sign of surrender.

But the pilgrim was very pleased and satisfied with this interview. He left the ‘Master’ and set out again on his journey.

On the road the pilgrim met the attendant monks on the way home, and began telling them enthusiastically what an enlightened being this Master of silence was.

He said: “I asked him what Buddha is. He immediately turned his face to the east and then to the west, implying that human beings are always looking for Buddha here and there, but actually Buddha is not to be found either in the east or in the west.

I then asked him what the dharma is. In answer to this question he looked up and down, meaning that the truth of dharma is a totality of equalness, there being no discrimination between high and low, while both purity and impurity can be found therein.

In answering my question as to what Zen was, he simply closed his eyes and said nothing. That was a clue to the famous saying:

‘If one can close his eyes and sleep soundly

in the deep recesses of the cloudy mountains

he is a great monk indeed.’

Finally, in answering my last question, ‘What is the blessing?’ he stretched out his arms and showed both his hands to me. This implied that he was stretching out his helping hands to guide sentient beings with his blessings. Oh, what an enlightened Zen Master! How profound is his teaching!”

When the attendant monks returned, the ‘Master of Silence’ scolded them thus: “Where have you been all this time? A while ago I was embarrassed to death, and almost ruined, by an inquisitive pilgrim!”

Osho – “Zen the Path of Paradox”

Old Man’s Horse

I will tell you a small story. It happened in the days of Lao Tzu in China, and Lao Tzu loved it very much. For generations the followers of Lao Tzu have been repeating the story and always finding more and more meaning in it. The story has grown; it has become a live factor.

The story is simple: There was an old man in a village, very poor, but even kings were jealous of him because he had a beautiful white horse. Such a horse had never been seen before — the beauty, the very grandeur, the strength. Kings asked for the horse and they offered fabulous prices, but the old man would say, `This horse is not a horse to me, he is a person, and how can you sell a person? He is a friend, he is not a possession. How can you sell a friend? No, it is not possible.’ The man was poor, there was every temptation, but he never sold the horse.

One morning, he suddenly found that the horse was not in the stable. The whole village gathered and they said, `You foolish old man. We knew it beforehand, that some day the horse would be stolen. And you are so poor — how can you protect such a precious thing? It would have been better to sell it. You could have fetched any price you asked, any fancy price was possible. Now the horse is gone. It is a curse, a misfortune.’

The old man said, `Don’t go too far — simply say that the horse is not in the stable. This is the fact; everything else is a judgment. Whether it is a misfortune or not, how do you know? How do you judge?’

The people said, `Don’t try to befool us. We may not be great philosophers, but no philosophy is needed. It is a simple fact that a treasure has been lost, and it is a misfortune.’

The old man said, `I will stick to the fact that the stable is empty and the horse is gone. Anything else I don’t know — whether it is a misfortune or a blessing — because this is just a fragment. Who knows what is going to follow it?’

People laughed. They thought the old man had gone mad. They always knew it, that he was a little crazy; otherwise he would have sold this horse and lived in riches. But he was living like a woodcutter, and he was very old and still cutting wood and bringing the wood from the forest and selling it. He was living hand to mouth, in misery and poverty. Now it was completely certain that this man was crazy.

After fifteen days, suddenly one night, the horse returned. He had not been stolen: he had escaped to the wilderness. And not only did he come back, he brought a dozen wild horses with him. Again the people gathered and they said, `Old man, you were right and we were wrong. It was not a misfortune, it proved to be a blessing. We are sorry that we insisted.’

The old man said, `Again you are going too far. Just say that the horse is back, and say that twelve horses have come with the horse — but don’t judge. Who knows whether it is a blessing or not? It is only a fragment. Unless you know the whole story, how can you judge? You read one page of a book, how can you judge the whole book? You read a sentence in a page — how can you judge the whole page? You read a single word in a sentence — how can you judge the whole sentence? And even a single word is not in the hand — life is so vast — a fragment of a word and you have judged the whole! Don’t say that this is a blessing, nobody knows. And I am happy in my no-judgment; don’t disturb me.’

This time the people could not say much; maybe the old man was again right. So they kept silent, but inside they knew well that he was wrong. Twelve beautiful horses had come with the horse. A little training and they could all be sold and they would fetch much money.

The old man had a young son, only one son. The young son started to train the wild horses; just a week later he fell from a wild horse and his legs were broken. The people gathered again — and people are people everywhere, like you everywhere — again they judged. Judgment comes so soon! They said, `You were right, again you proved right. It was not a blessing, it was again a misfortune. Your only son has lost his legs, and in your old age he was your only support. Now you are poorer than ever.’

The old man said, `You are obsessed with judgment. Don’t go that far. Say only that my son has broken his legs. Who knows whether this is a misfortune or a blessing? — nobody knows. Again a fragment, and more is never given to you. Life comes in fragments, and judgment is about the total.’

It happened that after a few weeks the country went to war with a neighbouring country, and all the young men of the town were forcibly taken for the military. Only the old man’s son was left because he was crippled. The people gathered, crying and weeping, because from every house young people were forcibly taken away. And there was no possibility of their coming back, because the country that had attacked was a big country and the fight was a losing fight. They were not going to come back.

The whole town was crying and weeping, and they came to the old man and they said, `You were right, old man! God knows, you were right — this proved a blessing. Maybe your son is crippled, but still he is with you. Our sons are gone for ever. At least he is alive and with you, and, by and by, he will start walking. Maybe a little limp will be left, but he will be okay.’

The old man again said, `It is impossible to talk to you people, you go on and on and on — you go on judging. Nobody knows! Only say this: that your sons have been forced to enter into the military, into the army, and my son has not been forced. But nobody knows whether it is a blessing or a misfortune. Nobody will ever be able to know it. Only God knows.’

And when we say only God knows, it means only the Total knows. Judge ye not, otherwise you will never be able to become one with the Total. With fragments you will be obsessed, with small things you will jump to conclusions. And Sufis are very insistent on this: that you never bother that there are things which are completely beyond you, but even about them you make judgments. Your consciousness is on a very low rung of the ladder. You live in the dark valley of misery, anguish, and from your darkest valleys of miseries you judge even a Buddha. Even a Buddha is not left without your judgment. Even a Jesus is judged by you — not only judged but crucified; judged and found guilty; judged and punished.

 
Osho – “Until you Die” 

The only flaw of the Palace

There is the story of a king who once built a special palace. He made it so impregnable that no enemy could enter it. We also, in life, make just such castles and take all precautions to keep the enemy away and be absolutely safe. What does man do all his life, after all? Why does he amass wealth? Why does he yearn for position and fame? So that he may feel safe and secure and life holds no terror for him. But the fun of the whole thing, and also the secret, is that the more measures he takes to safeguard himself, his fear increases in the same proportion. The king had also conquered all there was to conquer. No the only fear was to guard himself from the enemy; for the enemy conquered is still the enemy.

He who tries to conquer others, makes enemies of all. Only he who is ready to accept defeat from another man alone be a friend in this world. The king wished to conquer the whole world so the whole world was his enemy and his fear had increased a thousandfold. When fear increased, it became necessary to make provisions for safety. He built a big palace with only one door. There were no other doors and no windows; not even a hole for the enemy to work through. Only one door — guarded by thousands of soldiers with naked swords.

The neighbouring kind came to see this much-talked-of palace. He was terribly impressed and determined to make a similar palace for his own safety. While taking leave, he praised the king for his foresight and wisdom and reiterated his desire to follow his example. An old beggar sitting by the roadside heard this talk. He laughed aloud. The owner of the palace chided him saying: “What makes you laugh, fool?”

“Since you ask, Sire, I shall take the opportunity of telling you,” said the beggar. “There is only one flaw in this marvellous structure. It is impregnable except for the door. The enemy can come through the door. If you step in and have the door covered with brick and mortar, it will be completely secure. Then no enemy can ever enter it.”

“If I do as you say, you fool, this palace will become my grave,” said the king.

“It already is,” said the fakir, “except for the door. Through this door the enemy can come, and if not the enemy, death is bound to come.”

“But I will be dead before that!” raved the king.

“Then understand this well.” said the fakir. “As many doors as you had in your palace, so much of existence was with you. As you decreased the doors so also life diminished within you. Now one door is left — one lone opening to life; close it and shut out life forever. Therefore I say, there is only one flaw.” And he broke into peals of laughter again. “I too had castles, your majesty,”the fakir continued. “Then I felt that they were no more than prison-houses. So I began to widen the doors and separate the walls. But I found that no matter how much I widened the doors the walls still remained, so I got out of the walls and came out in the open. Now I stay beneath the open skies and am alive in the perfect sense of the word.”

But have we not all built as many walls around us as we possibly could? The walls that are made of brick and mortar are not that dangerous, for they can be seen. There are other walls — subtle, imperceptible walls…. These are the hard screens — glass screens of concepts, of doctrines, of scriptures. Absolutely invisible!

These walls we have built around our souls for complete security The thicker the walls, the farther it keeps us away from the open skies of Truth. Then the soul becomes restless and struggles; and the more agitated the soul is, the more we strive to strengthen the walls. Then a fear grips us — perhaps this struggle, this restlessness, is due to the walls? The answer is “Yes.” As long as the soul is confined, it cannot attain bliss. There is no sorrow except in captivity.

Osho – “The Begining of the Begining”

Mulla Nasruddin’s Clothes

Suppression binds, it does not liberate. Try to suppress something and you find yourself bound hand and foot to it.

One evening, as Mulla Nasruddin was setting out to call on some of his friends, an old friend happened to come along. It was twenty years since they had seen each other. Both were beside themselves with joy. “It is ages since we met.” said Nasruddin. “I am so very happy to see you. You rest awhile and refresh yourself for the journey must have been long and tiring. I shall go quickly to see a few friends I have promised to visit.”

“Oh no!” said the friend “I have not the heart to waste even a minute of your company. I will go along with you and we can talk on the way, if you will lend me a coat, for my clothes are dirty.”

Now Nasruddin had a set of expensive clothes presented to him by the king, which he had kept by for a befitting occasion. They were an expensive coat, a turban, and a pair of shoes. He had never worn them but today was a special day, and what could be more befitting than that his childhood friend should make use of them! He quickly brought them out and gave them to his friend. He was so happy that the clothes had come in handy at the right moment!

But when the friend appeared, dressed in the royal attire, Nasruddin felt a twinge of jealousy. The clothes looked gorgeous and his friend looked so handsome in them. Had he done a wise thing by giving him these clothes. He looked almost like a servant before him! It is too hard on a man to see another looking rich and handsome in his clothes, while he looked like a beggar before him! Had the clothes belonged to the friend, even then it would have been a difficult situation — but this was worse!

Nasruddin tried to get over this feeling by telling himself of the higher virtues of life, as all men of temperance do: “What difference does it make whether the clothes are mine or his? He is a very dear friend, and that is all that matters. What is there in clothes?” Thus he cajoled himself trying to convince himself of the worthlessness of jealousy. But alas whoever they met had his eyes glued on the friend and his clothes.

The world looks at clothes and not the man. Nobody so much as glanced at Nasruddin, so that in spite of all his sanctimonious talk, he was filled with pain and suffering. At last they reached the first house of call. The door opened and Nasruddin’s friend came out, but his eyes were caught by the richness of the friend’s attire! Nasruddin noted this and began to introduce his friend: “This is my childhood friend, an extremely fine person but as for his clothes, they are mine.” In an unguarded moment, the words fell out and Nasruddin feet great remorse. The friend was astonished at his behaviour and so were the people of the house.

When they came out, the friend reproved him: “Forgive me but I cannot accompany you any further. You have insulted me. Had I known, I should have accompanied you in my own clothes, even though they were dirty — they were mine! Where was the need to point out the clothes?” Nasruddin begged forgiveness: “Forsooth, there was no need. Pray forgive me; it was a slip of the tongue!” he said.

The tongue never slips — remember this always. What goes on within the mind comes invariably on the tongue. That which is suppressed within comes out in an unguarded moment, as steam bursts forth from a closed kettle. The kettle is not at fault. The steam collects within and wishes to get out. Even if the kettle bursts, it has to get out.

“If you say so, I believe you,” said the friend. “But be mindful at the next house.” Nasruddin promised to watch his words. And to prove his sincerity, he even made a gift of the clothes to his friend. “They are yours from now on,” he told him.

They came to the next house. Here also, the man of the house and his wife could not help staring at the friend and his attire. Again it came to Nasruddin: “How foolish of me to give him the clothes right away! I cannot hope to see myself in them.”

And when the time came to introduce the friend Nasruddin began: “Meet my childhood friend, an extremely nice person and as for his clothes, they are his, not mine.”

Again Nasruddin slipped! To say that the clothes were not his, creates a doubt. The friend refused to go any further. Nasruddin begged of him to give him just one more chance, otherwise he would suffer remorse all his life. It was a mistake committed because of the first mistake. He pleaded with his friend, attributing his statement to various reasons; but it was a clear case of suppression.

Now Nasruddin entered the third friend’s house with a vow that he would not mention the clothes. But the clothes, by now, had taken possession of every inch of his being, and like all persons of self-restraint, he put up a brave front outside. Little did the friend suspect what was happening within poor Nasruddin. He looked all right on the outside, but within, he was verging on insanity. Wherever he looked, he saw clothes and nothing but clothes. It filled him with anger and pain but do as he would, he could not subdue this feeling. So he began to repeat his resolve to himself, lest he slipped again: “I must not talk about clothes — I must not talk about clothes!”

And now he was called upon to introduce the guest once again! Poor Nasruddin, with clothes littered all over his consciousness, he began the introduction: “This is my friend. We have known each other for many years and now he comes to visit me after a long absence; and as for his clothes, I have sworn not to mention to whom it belongs.”

A suppressed mind works in this manner. It gets involved with the very thing it tries to suppress. The mind gets diseased, obsessions are formed — is this self-restraint? Definitely not. But this is how it has been defined over the years. Even today when someone starts to practise moderation, he begins with self-repression. The result is that the perverted forms of the very thing he tries to suppress, take possession of his mind.

Osho – “The Begining of the Begining”

Mischievous in Death!!

When Ikkyu died himself, he collected all his disciples and asked them,” Just tell me some new way of dying, because I am not interested in imitation. People die on their beds; I don’t want to die on the bed.” The bed is the most dangerous thing — 99.9 percent of people die there, beware! So whenever you go to bed, remember: This place is very close to the graveyard. His disciples knew that he was a crazy man — now, whoever has ever bothered about how one dies? People simply die….

Ikkyu asked, “Has somebody a suggestion?”

One man said, “You can die sitting in the lotus posture.” Ikkyu said, “That is not new. Many other masters have died in that posture. Suggest something new, novel!”
One man said, “You can die standing.” Ikkyu said, “That looks a little better.” But a disciple objected; he said, “Although it is not well known, I know one Zen master who has died standing. So you will be number two.” Ikkyu said, “Then reject it. Suggest something new. I want to be first!”

One of his disciples suggested, “Then there is only one way. You die standing on your head, in a head stand, shirshan. Nobody has ever tried it.” Ikkyu said, “That is right. That suits me! I am so grateful to you.” He stood on his head and died.
Now the disciples were in trouble. They knew what to do when somebody dies on a bed — that his clothes have to be changed, that he has to be given a bath, new clothes have to be put on him, and then he is taken to the funeral — but what to do with this man who is standing on his head? He has not even fallen, and he is dead!
They tried in every possible way to find out whether he was dead or alive. He was dead, but there was no precedent, so they didn’t know what procedure should be followed.
Somebody said, “I know his elder sister, who is also a Zen mystic. She lives in a nearby monastery. And he was always respectful to her. I will call her, perhaps she can say something. It is better to enquire before we do anything wrong.”
The sister came, and she was very angry. She came and she said, “Ikkyu, you have been your whole life mischievous; at least in death, behave! Just lie down on the bed!” And Ikkyu jumped up and lay down on the bed and died. And the sister simply went out. She did not bother that he had died.

In the East it is not thought good to not follow the order of your elders, and particularly at such a moment. The disciples were amazed, because they had tried everything — the heart was not beating, the pulse was not there, they had moved a mirror in front of his nose, and there was no shadow of vapor. What had happened?
As the sister shouted at him, he immediately jumped, and just like an obedient child lay down on the bed and died! Even death is a game. And the sister did not even wait for the funeral.

To those who know that life is eternal, death means nothing. It is the death only of your physical body, not of your consciousness. And particularly a man like Ikkyu is not going to be reborn; he will not be again encaged in another body. He will be moving into the eternity, into the ocean of the consciousness of the whole existence. It is a moment of celebration.

Osho – “The Razor’s Edge”

At the doorsteps of God

The fear comes at the moment when you come to dissolve your last part, because then it will be irrevocable; you will not be able to come back.

I have told many times a beautiful poem of Rabindranath Tagore. The poet has been searching for God for millions of lives. He has seen him sometimes, far away, near a star, and he started moving that way, but by the time he reached that star, God has moved to some other place.

But he went on searching and searching — he was determined to find God’s home — and the surprise of surprises was, one day he actually reached a house where on the door was written: “God’s Home.”

You can understand his ecstasy, you can understand his joy. He runs up the steps, and just as he is going to knock on the door, suddenly his hand freezes. An idea arises in him: “If by chance this is really the home of God, then I am finished, my seeking is finished. I have become identified with my seeking, with my search. I don’t know anything else. If the door opens and I face God, I am finished — the search is over. Then what? Then there is an eternity of boredom — no excitement, no discovery, no new challenge, because there cannot be any challenge greater than God.”

He starts trembling with fear, takes his shoes off his feet, and descends back down the beautiful marble steps. He took the shoes off so that no noise was made, for his fear was that even a noise on the steps… God may open the door, although he has not knocked. And then he runs as fast as he has never run before. He used to think that he had been running after God as fast as he can, but today, suddenly, he finds energy which was never available to him before. He runs as he has never run, not looking back.

The poem ends, “I am still searching for God. I know his home, so I avoid it and search everywhere else. The excitement is great, the challenge is great, and in my search I continue, I continue to exist. God is a danger — I will be annihilated. But now I am not afraid even of God, because I know His home. So, leaving His home aside, I go on searching for him all around the universe. And deep down I know my search is not for God; my search is to nourish my ego.”

Osho – “Beyond Psychology”

The Last Laughter

I have heard about three monks. No name is mentioned, because they never told their names to anybody, they never answered
anything. So in China they are only known simply as “the three laughing monks.”

They did only one thing: they would enter a village, stand in the marketplace, and start laughing. Suddenly people would become aware and they would laugh with their whole being. Then others would also get the infection, and then a crowd would gather, and just looking at them the whole crowd would start laughing. What is happening? Then the whole town would get involved, and they would move to another town. They were loved very much. That was their only sermon, the only message — that laugh. And they would not teach, they would simply create the situation.

Then it happened they became famous all over the country — the three laughing monks. The whole of China loved them, respected them. Nobody had preached that way — that life must be just a laughter and nothing else. And they were not laughing at anybody in particular, but simply laughing as if they had understood the cosmic joke. They spread so much joy all over China without using a single word. People would ask their names but they would simply laugh, so that became their name, the three laughing monks.

Then they became old, and in one village one of the three monks died. The whole village was very expectant, filled with expectations, because now at least when one of them had died they must weep. This would be something worth seeing, because no one could even conceive of these people weeping.

The whole village gathered. The two monks were standing by the side of the corpse of the third and laughing such a belly laugh. So the villagers asked, “At least explain this!”

So for the first time they spoke, and they said, “We are laughing because this man has won. We were always wondering who would die first, and this man has defeated us. We are laughing at our defeat, at his victory. He lived with us for many years, and we laughed together and we enjoyed each other’s togetherness, presence. There can be no other way of giving him the last send-off, we can only laugh.”

The whole village was sad, but when the dead monk’s body was put on the funeral pyre, then the village realized that not only were these two joking — the third who was dead was also laughing… because the third man who was dead had told his companions, “Don’t change my dress!” It was conventional that when a man died they changed the dress and gave a bath to the body, so he had said, “Don’t give me a bath because I have never been unclean. So much laughter has been in my life that no impurity can accumulate near me, can even come to me. I have not gathered any dust, laughter is always young and fresh. So don’t give me a bath and don’t change my clothes.”

So just to pay him respect they had not changed his clothes. And when the body was put on the fire, suddenly they became aware that he had hidden many things under his clothes and those things started… Chinese fireworks! So the whole village laughed, and those two said, “You rascal! You have died, but again you have defeated us. Your laughter is the last.”

There is a cosmic laughter when the whole joke of this cosmos is understood. That is the highest, only a buddha can laugh like that. These three monks must have been three buddhas. But if you can laugh the second, that too is worth trying.

Osho – “Vedanta : Seven Steps to Samadhi”

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