Osho on Haiku

The old pond

Frog jumps in

The sound of water

THIS IS ONE of the most famous haiku by Matsuo Basho. It has that special flavor that only awakened people are aware of. Its beauty is not only aesthetic but existential. Its fragrance is that of Buddhahood.

Tao simply means that which is, with no qualification, with no adjective. Tao means: just so.

The old pond

Frog jumps in

The sound of water

Haiku is not ordinary poetry. The ordinary poetry is of imagination. The ordinary poetry is a creation of the mind. Haiku simply reflects that which is. Consciousness becomes a mirror and reflects that which confronts it. The mirror remains untouched by what it reflects. An ugly person passes before I mirror — the mirror does not become ugly, the mirror remains in its sameness. A beautiful person passes by, the mirror does not become beautiful either. And when there is nobody to reflect, the mirror is still the same. Reflecting, not reflecting, reflecting good, reflecting bad, the mirror remains virgin. So is the consciousness of one who has awakened.

Basho was a disciple of the Zen Master, Buko. The time this incredibly beautiful haiku was born, he was living in a small hut by the side of an old pond. One day, after a brief rain, Master Buko visited Basho and asked, “How is your understanding these days?”

Remember, the Master has not asked, “How is your knowledge?” He has asked, “How is your understanding?”

Understanding is totally different from knowledge. Knowledge is borrowed, understanding is one’s own. Knowledge comes from without, understanding wells up within. Knowledge is ugly, because it is secondhand. And knowledge can never become part of your being. It will remain alien, it will remain foreign, it cannot get roots into you. Understanding grows out of you, it is your own flowering. It is authentically yours, hence it has beauty, and it liberates.

Truth can never be borrowed from anybody, and the borrowed truth is no longer truth. A borrowed truth is already a lie. The moment truth is said, it becomes a lie. Truth has to be experienced, not to be heard, not to be read. Truth is not just going to be a part of your accumulation, part of your memory. Truth has to be existential: each pore of your being should feel it. Yes, it has to be a feeling. Each breath should be full of it. It should pulsate in you, it should circulate in you like your blood. When truth is understood, you become it.

Hence the Master Buko asked his disciple, “Basho, how is your understanding these days?” And don’t forget those two beautiful words, ‘these days’. Truth is always growing. Truth is a movement. It is not static, it is dynamic. It is a dance. It is like growing trees and flowing rivers and moving stars. Truth is never, at any point, a static phenomenon. It is not stasis; it is utterly dynamic, it is movement. To be alive it has to be moving. Only death is static, only death is stagnant. Hence the people who are dead may look alive on the surface, but if their truth is no longer growing they are dead. Their soul is no longer growing.

Truth is not an idea but your very being, your very soul.

Hence the Master asked, “How is your understanding these days?” He is not asking about the past. Knowledge is always about the past, imagination is always about the future. He is asking about the present, he is asking about the immediate.

Basho responded,

Rain has passed

Green moss moistened.

Just a few moments before, it was raining: the rain has passed, green moss moistened. It is good, but not VERY good. It is already past. It is no longer immediate. It is a memory already, it is no longer experiencing. Buko was not contented — the answer was good but not great. And a Master is never contented unless the answer is absolute, unless the answer is really as it should be — and certainly not with the potential of a man like Basho. Now nobody knows about Buko, his Master. He is known only because of Basho. The disciple had infinite potential; the Master cannot be contented so easily. Remember it! — the more potential you have, the more you will be put to hard tasks. The Master will be severe with you. He is going to be very hard on you.

The answer was good if it had come from somebody of lesser potential than Basho; the Master might have nodded his head in consent — but not to Basho. Even a few minutes’ gap is gap enough. The rain is no more there, the clouds have dispersed, it is already sunny, the sun is shining all around, on the old pond, on the hut….

He said, “Say something more!”

And when the Master says, “Say something more,” he does not mean talk a little more about it. He does not mean ‘more’ in a quantitative sense. He means: say something deeper, say something more intense, say something more existential, say something more, qualitatively!

At that instant Basho heard the plop of a frog jumping into the pond.

He said,

Frog jumps in

The sound of water

Now, this is Tao: the immediate, that which is, alive, throbbing, this very moment.

Tao knows no past, no future. Tao knows only one kind of time, that is present. Tao knows only herenow. Just let your mind disappear and then there is no past and no future. Past and future are mind creations. In reality, there is only present. And when there is no past, no future, how can you even call it present? — because present has meaning only in reference to past and future. The present is sandwiched between past and future. If you have taken away past and future, the present also disappears. That is the moment of Tao: when time disappears, when one is in utter immediacy, when one is utterly herenow, neither roaming somewhere in the ghosts of the past or in the unborn images of the future. This is the moment of enlightenment: when time is not, and when you are utterly here and nowhere else.

And when there is no time, there is no mind. Mind and time are synonymous. The more mind you have, the more you are conscious of time. That’s why in the Western world a great time-consciousness has arisen: it is because of the cultivation of the mind.

Go to the primitive people living in the mountains or in the jungles. Go to the aboriginals and there is no time-consciousness, because the mind has not been cultivated yet. And it again happens — when through understanding one drops all the nostalgia for the past and all the fancies for the future, time disappears again.

And with the disappearance of time, suddenly mind is no more found. And when there is no mind there is silence. In that silence the beyond penetrates the earth. In that silence the unknown descends into you. In that silence, the meeting with God. In that silence, the benediction, the blessing. In that silence is the Kingdom of God.

Basho said,

Frog jumps in

The sound of water.

This is a statement of Tao. This is Tao — simple, pure, nude. At this response the Master was immensely delighted. The Master is always delighted whenever a disciple comes back home. The delight of the Master knows no bounds, as if he becomes enlightened again! More perfection is added to his already perfect being. He needed nothing to be added to him, but each time a disciple flares up into awareness, becomes aflame, the Master feels as if he has again become enlightened. The Master was immensely delighted, and the very delight of the Master became the occasion of Basho’s enlightenment.

Seeing the delighted face of the Master, seeing the aura of his joy, the nod of his consent — or maybe he said nothing — his silence showering on the disciple as grace, Basho became enlightened! What a moment to become enlightened! Thousands of people have become enlightened in the past, but the way Basho became enlightened is simply unique. Because the Master was delighted, the very delight of the Master penetrated his heart like a sword.

Flowers showered on him, because the Master must have smiled…. The unheard music was heard because the Master must have looked at him with joy, with blessing. I don’t know, but Buko must have danced or done something crazy like that. The enlightenment of a disciple is no small matter.

Later on, Basho continued to polish the haiku like a diamond. For his whole life he continued to polish it — because this is a rare phenomenon, this small haiku:

The old pond

Frog jumps in

The sound of water

It was because of this that his own process of enlightenment was triggered. He continued to polish it like a diamond. He continued to cut it and give it more and more depth.

He added: The old pond. The first statement was only:

Frog jumps in

The sound of water.

Later on he added: the old pond. My feeling is that the old pond must have insisted on being included. And the old pond had every right to be included — without the old pond there would have been no frog, no jumping in, no sound of water. Basho owed much to the old pond; he included it.

Now the haiku was:

The old pond

Frog jumps in

The sound of water.

And still later on, he dropped the words ‘of water’. Now the haiku was not so perfect as before, but more complete than before. Now it was:

The old pond

Frog jumps in

The sound

It is not so perfect as before, but it is more complete. What do I mean when I say it is more complete? Now it is a growing phenomenon, it does not put a full stop. Before there was a full stop, it was a finished product; you could not have added anything to it. It didn’t leave anything for you to meditate upon. But just ‘the sound’, and it opens a door. There is no full stop anymore. It becomes a quest. So now it is more complete but less perfect. Now it is utterly complete, complete in the sense that it is growing. Now it is a tree growing, unpredictable. Now each one has to meditate over it. And this became one of the great meditations for the seekers who were to follow Basho. Now it has more beauty than before. Always remember, anything complete, anything absolutely complete, loses something from it — it becomes dead. All the great painters know this. And the greatest paintings are those which have been left a little bit incomplete, the last touch has not been given to them. And the greatest poems are those which have been left incomplete — so a door remains open for you to enter, so your being can have a communion with the incomplete poetry, so your being can complete it, so it can be completed in your existence.

Now it was,

The old pond

Frog jumps in

The sound

Still later, he dropped a few more things. Now it became,

The old pond

Frog jumps in

Plop!

Now this is getting to the crescendo: just ‘plop!’ This is truer — truer to the frog, truer to the pond, truer to reality. The reality knows only ‘plop!’ and it simply leaves you there — to wonder, to inquire, to meditate.

Somebody asked Basho, “Why have you dropped the words ‘of water’ and finally even ‘the sound’?”

Basho said, “I want you to hear what kind of sound it is. I don’t want to say, I want you to hear what kind of sound it is.”

The old pond
Frog jumps in
Plop!
You are left in a new kind of meditative space. Suddenly the old pond becomes a reality very close by. You can feel it, it is here. And the frog jumps in. It is not a frog of the past… “Plop!” you can hear it again. It becomes a reality. This is great art, that what the artist lived through, he can create again in somebody who is receptive, who is available, who is ready to go on the journey of exploration. This is the way of all the Buddhas. Their statements are nothing but triggering points of a certain process in you called meditation. This is the way of Tao: to bring you to that which is. This is my way too: to help you to fall utterly in the moment. THIS moment! THIS is it!

Tao is not a doctrine. It is a special way of becoming aware. It is the way of awakening, the way of enlightenment, the way of coming back home. Tao simply means ‘the Way’. And remember, it does not mean it in the ordinary sense of the word. Whenever you hear the words ‘the way’ you start thinking of a goal somewhere faraway, of where the way leads you. No,

Tao means ‘the Way’, but not in reference to a goal. Then what does it mean? It means ‘the way things are’. It simply means the way things are, already are, just so. Nothing has to be achieved, all is showering on you. Just be herenow and celebrate. My definition of religion is celebration.

But there are people who would not like such a simple phenomenon as Tao: their egos do not feel challenged enough, they are always interested in the hard way. They are always interested in difficulties. If there are not difficulties, they will create them. They cannot do things in a simple way. They are almost incapable of being simple, and to be simple is the only way to be in God.

God is simplicity, innocence. God is as simple as the rosebush and the call of the cuckoo from the mango grove. God is as simple as the giggle of a girl. God is as simple as a leaf falling from the tree. God is as simple as the breeze passing through the ancient pine trees.

But there are people who would not like God to be so simple. These are the people who create theologies, these are the people who create difficult, abstract speculations about God, who make the whole thing so difficult that it becomes almost incomprehensible. And God is very simple.

The old pond

Frog jumps in

Plop!

Yes, God is like that….It has to be remembered again and again by you, because your ego will play tricks on you. That is how people go on missing the simple way of Tao. Christianity has so much of a following, Buddhism has a great following, Islam has a great following, but Tao is still not a church. It never has been a church, it never became an organization. Individuals have existed, individuals have followed it, individuals have attained through it, but it never became the way of the masses. Why? — because it is available only to those who are ready to drop the ways of the ego, who are ready to be simple, innocent, childlike. There are some people who always look for the difficult side of the problem. To them the easy solution never appears, they always have to think of the most complicated one.

I recall a young man who was applying for admission to one of the most exclusive country clubs in Newport. The rather reserved, unimpressive-looking young man was notified that he must play a round of golf with the club officers as a prerequisite to his acceptance. On the appointed afternoon he met them on the first tee equipped with a hockey stick, a croquet mallet and a billiard cue. The officers looked him over incredulously but nevertheless proceeded to tee off. To their dismay the young man coolly drove off 275 yards with the hockey stick, gracefully arched his second shot to the green with the croquet mallet and sank a twenty-foot putt with a billiard cue.

After soundly drubbing the baffled officers with a subpar 68, the applicant retired with them to the club bar. There he ordered a Scotch and soda, and when it arrived he mixed the drink himself by tossing the contents of the shot glass over his shoulder into the waiting soda behind him on the bar. This further display of the young man’s incredible physical coordination was too much for the officers of the club.

“You are miraculous!” they exclaimed. “What is the story behind these fantastic talents of yours?”

“All my life,” the man explained, “physical activity of any sort has been child’s play for me. To overcome the boredom that has resulted from my monotonous mastery of everything, I try to do almost everything the most difficult way possible. Thus I play tennis with a ping-pong paddle, ping-pong with a tennis racket, and so on.”

“Wait a minute,” interrupted one of the club officers. “If it is true, as you say, that you do everything physical in the most difficult manner possible, I have one question… “

“I know,” said the young man, smiling. “Everyone asks me the same thing, and I don’t mind telling you — standing up, in a hammock.” This is the way of the ego.

Tao is simple, utterly simple. You don’t have to stand up in a hammock. The most fundamental thing about Tao is that it is a child’s play. But to be a child seems to be almost impossible for people. Who wants to be a child? Jesus says, “Unless you are like small children, you will not enter into my Kingdom of God.” But it seems nobody wants to be a child; that is where our misery lies.

All these days we have been going deeper and deeper into the world of Tao. Today are the last sutras, the concluding remarks by Master Lu-tsu. They are simple. You have to be simple to understand them. There is not much knowledge in them, but certainly much insight. They will not make you knowledgeable. In fact, they will take all knowledge away, they will make you ignorant. But if a man can be ignorant, can be courageous enough to drop all his knowledge and can live in a state of not-knowing, then there is no barrier between him and God, no barrier between him and existence. Knowledge creates the barrier. Adam has been expelled from the Garden of Eden because he has eaten the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge. That fruit has to be vomited. Once knowledge is vomited out, you are clean. And in that cleanness, all is available. All is already available; just because you are not clean and stuffed with knowledge, you cannot see it.

Source:

This is an excerpt from the transcript of a public discourse by Osho in Buddha Hall, Shree Rajneesh Ashram, Pune.

Discourse Series: The Secret of Secrets, Vol 2

Chapter #13

Chapter title: Where the positive and negative meet

8 September 1978 am in Buddha Hall

References:

Osho has spoken on ‘Haiku, Basho, meditation, Zen, poetry, consciousness, enlightenment, awakening’ in many of His discourses. More on the subject can be referred to in the following books/discourses:

The Dhammapada: The Way of the Buddha, Vol 3
Communism and Zen Fire, Zen Wind
Dogen, the Zen Master: A Search and a Fulfillment
Hyakujo: The Everest of Zen, with Basho’s Haikus
The Language of Existence
The Miracle
The Path of the Mystic
Turning In
Zen: The Diamond Thunderbolt
Beyond Enlightenment
Bodhidharma: The Greatest Zen Master
The Great Zen Master Ta Hui
Sermons in Stones