ZEN AND ZEN MASTERS
This A Thousand Times 13
Thirteenth Discourse from the series of 15 discourses - This A Thousand Times by Osho.
You can listen, download or read all of these discourses on oshoworld.com.
Osho,
A monk had come to see Kisu and after a very brief stay was making his departure.
Kisu said, “Where are you going?”
The monk replied, “I’m going all over the place learning the five flavors of Zen.”
Kisu said, “Yes, there are the five flavors of Zen in various places, but here I have only one.”
The monk asked, “And what may be your one-flavored Zen?”
Kisu struck him.
The monk said, “I understand! I understand!”
Kisu said, “Tell me what! Tell me what!” and as the monk began to speak, Kisu struck him again.
At another time, a monk asked Kisu, “What is the Buddha?”
“If I tell you,” said Kisu, “will you believe me?”
The monk replied, “The master’s words are so momentous, how could I not believe them?”
Kisu said, “Simply, you are it.”
The monk asked, “How can we maintain this state?”
Kisu said, “If your eye is just a little clouded, flowery illusions are rampant.”
The monk was enlightened at this.
Maneesha, Zen is not what it says, but what it shows. It is a finger pointing to the moon in absolute silence. All words have to be understood as fingers pointing to the moon. It is not a philosophy, it is an indication.
You have to understand these anecdotes with this background in mind.
A monk had come to see Kisu and after a very brief stay was making his departure.
Kisu said, “Where are you going?”
These questions in Zen don’t have the same meaning as they have in common language. When a Zen master asks, “Where are you going?” he means, “There is no way to go anywhere, you are everywhere. Where can you go? Your consciousness is as wide as the whole universe: “Where are you going?”
In a simple question there is the tremendous implication that you are not the body you think, you are not the mind you think, and you are not the desire you think.
You are the witness which fills the whole universe.
You cannot go anywhere. Wherever you go, you are swimming into yourself. This whole ocean of existence is yours. It has no boundaries, no limits.
When Kisu asked, “Where are you going?” the monk replied,
“I’m going all over the place learning the five flavors of Zen.”
He could not understand the question. He understood the language but he could not see the indication.
“I’m going all over the place…” simply indicates he believes in his “I” and he also believes that he can go somewhere. He has heard about the five flavors of Zen, but about them he is also not exactly clear. “The five flavors of Zen” simply means your five senses fully awake. Even one sense fully awake will do. If you can see without any clouds of thoughts passing through the sky of your eyes, it is enough.
But nature is always a giver in abundance. A single sense would have been able to experience your being. Instead of one, existence has given you five senses – and still you have not found yourself. Five doors, and you have not entered into your own house. One would have been enough.
The five flavors of Zen mean five sensitivities. One can reach to Zen, to oneself, by smelling a roseflower. If you can become one with the rose, its fragrance, if you can forget yourself for a moment and just the rose remains – just for a moment the observer and the observed are one – you have found it. The truth, the beauty – what philosophers have been discussing, what poets have been singing, what musicians have been trying to produce on their instruments.
But nobody succeeds. Even the greatest poet knows the greater the poet, the more the experience that he has failed.
One of the greatest poets of India, Rabindranath Tagore, was on his deathbed. One of his old friends was consoling him: “Don’t be worried. Death comes to everybody and you have lived enough and lived richly. What more can one expect?”
Rabindranath opened his eyes and he said, “You are right and yet… I want it to be noted for future generations that I have not sung the song that I wanted to.”
He has left six thousand songs.
The man was puzzled because the greatest western poet, Shelley, had only two thousand songs to his name. Rabindranath had six thousand songs which could be put to music; which are not only poetries, which can also be sung. Yet his last statement is: “These were all my failures. Six thousand times I have failed; I have been trying to say something and it eludes me.”
The greater the musician, the greater the experience that the music that his being wanted to create, that his instrument…
[A furious monsoon rainstorm erupts and the power briefly goes out, plunging the whole assembly into an abrupt and silent darkness. When the power returns, Osho waits a few moments before beginning again.]
Do you hear the rain?
If you can hear it intensely, totally, this moment can become your enlightenment.
It is not a question to be discussed, it is an inquiry into your own inner space. It is stopping the mind from its wavering thoughts and coming to a stillness within you where nothing moves.
Kisu has asked, “Where are you going?” I ask you, “Where are you going?” It is raining too hard outside. Even the bamboos are dancing with the rain. If you can remain here without thinking, without mind… This is the place, the space. You don’t have to go anywhere else to find it.
Kisu said, “Yes, there are the five flavors of Zen in various places, but here I have only one.”
The monk asked, “And what may be your one-flavored Zen?”
Kisu struck him.
This striking is symbolic. It says, “It is you,” as loudly as possible. You are the only flavor, just be without wavering. And if you cannot find it in this beautiful climate, where are you going to find it? In this place where so many buddhas are present, knowing or unknowing, just gather yourself and look within yourself.
Kisu’s striking the poor monk was just to wake up the sleeping one. It is sleeping in everyone.
The monk said, “I understand! I understand!”
Kisu said, “Tell me what! Tell me what!” and as the monk began to speak, Kisu struck him again.
Zen cannot be said. The moment you start saying it, you have missed it. You can have it, you can be it, you can dance it, but you cannot bring it to words. It is a wordless experience of your being.
At another time, a monk asked Kisu, “What is the Buddha?”
“If I tell you,” said Kisu, “will you believe me?”
The monk replied, “The master’s words are so momentous, how could I not believe them?”
Kisu said, “Simply, you are it.”
This is the easiest and the most difficult thing in the world: to trust that you are a buddha. But whether you trust or not, you are a buddha, you cannot be otherwise. You are pure consciousness, you are pure existence.
The monk asked, “How can we maintain this state?”
Kisu said, “If your eye is just a little clouded, flowery illusions are rampant.”
The monk was enlightened at this.
But are you enlightened at this? It is so simple; you don’t need any education, you don’t need any teaching, you don’t need any culture. You are already there. From the very beginning of time, you are eternity in the moment.
If you don’t become enlightened, it is simply postponement. There is no hurry – you can become enlightened tomorrow or another life. But remember, unless you become enlightened you cannot get out of your misery, your tensions, your anguish, your meaninglessness. You cannot attain the splendor that is your inheritance.
It is better to do it quickly – this moment, without waiting – because you have been waiting for centuries. And the more you wait, the more you learn how to wait, the thicker and thicker your waiting becomes.
There is no need to wait, not even for a single moment. In this beautiful existence…
And today, this moment, it is especially beautiful. All around the dance of the rain, the commentaries of the bamboos and a silent gathering of thousands of buddhas…
Don’t miss it.
Maneesha has asked:
Osho,
I wonder, have I understood your words? Have I understood your silence? I only know that your words sound less like words these days; and that your silence feels like our silence – and that silence feels like the most familiar, the most natural of spaces.
Maneesha, I don’t have a staff in my hand, otherwise I would have given you three beats. Instead, Nivedano, give three beats!
[Drumbeat]
[Drumbeat]
[Drumbeat]
Those three beats are “yes” three times.
Before the rain stops I would like to share with these clouds, this rain, not only your silence but also your laughter. A silence without laughter is dead, and a laughter without silence is superficial. When silence and laughter are together it is something phenomenal, something of tremendous importance. Just as you are silent, also share your laughter with the rain.
Brother Brian, Brother Boris, and Brother Billy, three young novice monks, are about to go through their final trial before becoming fully-fledged friars.
An old abbot leads them into a luxurious room and tells them to take off their gowns and tie a small bell to their organs.
Suddenly, a gorgeous blonde enters the room wearing a scanty bikini, and one of the bells goes,
“Ding-a-ding! Ding-a ding!”
“Go stand in the showers, Brother Brian,” says the abbot.
The girl starts to slip out of her bikini…
“Ding-a-ding! Ding-a-ding!”
“Too bad, Brother Boris,” says the abbot, “Go to the showers, too!”
Finally, the girl is naked and starts writhing and dancing in front of Brother Billy. The bell remains silent.
“Praise the Lord!” shouts the abbot. “Congratulations, Brother Billy. You have passed. Now go and join those weaker souls in the showers!”
“Ding-a-ding! Ding-a ding!”
One of the zebras in a traveling circus gets sick, and the vet suggests that he should be rested at a nearby farm until he gets well.
The zebra makes a tour of the farmyard and greets all the animals.
“I am a zebra,” he says, “Who are you?”
“I am a chicken,” replies the chicken.
“And what do you do?” asks the zebra.
“I cluck a lot and lay eggs,” explains the chicken.
The zebra walks on and meets a cow.
“I am a zebra,” he announces, “Who are you?”
“I am a cow,” replies the cow.
“And what do you do?” asks the zebra.
“I moo and make milk,” replies the cow.
Next, the zebra meets a bull.
“I am a zebra,” he says, “Who are you?”
“I am a bull,” comes the reply.
“And what do you do?” asks the zebra.
“What do I do?” snorts the bull, “just take off those fancy pyjamas and I will show you!”
Pope the Polack and Ronald Reagan die and go to heaven. They ask for an interview with God, and find him sitting in a comfortable armchair.
“What have you done that you deserve to be in heaven?” God asks the pope.
“Well,” replies Pope the Polack, “I kissed the ground at most of the major airports of the world; I fought the evil communists, and opposed birth control so strongly that Catholics went forth and multiplied.”
“Very good!” says God. “Sit on my left side.”
Then God turns to Ronald Reagan.
“And what have you done,” he asks, “to deserve to be in heaven?”
“Well,” replies Reagan, “I was the most fundamentalist Christian president of all time. I drove Osho’s commune out of America, and caused the Third World War, thus bringing about your “Second Coming” to earth.”
“Good work,” says God, and then notices Osho standing there.
“Oh!” says God, quite embarrassed, “and what have you done that you deserve to be in heaven?”
“Cut the small talk,” says Osho, “and get out of my chair!”
Now, go into gibberish.
Nivedano…
[Drumbeat]
[Gibberish]
[Drumbeat]
Be silent, utterly silent, close your eyes and be in…
This. This very moment is the answer to all the questions ever asked.
You are the answer.
Nivedano…
[Drumbeat]
All fall back.
Let the body breathe, but you go deeper and deeper within yourself,
leaving the body almost like a shell surrounding you.
This.
This very moment is your buddha nature.
This is your eternity.
Nivedano…
[Drumbeat]
Come back to life, totally, intensely.
Nobody should remain in his grave.
If anybody is left in his grave
give a special beat for him, Nivedano…
[Drumbeat]
This is what Zen is all about – just a simple awareness.
A flame, unwavering,
a sword that cuts deep to the very core of your being.
Remember, Zen is not a word but only a shadow of an experience.
You are the reality.
Everything else is just non-essential commentary.
A monk had come to see Kisu and after a very brief stay was making his departure.
Kisu said, “Where are you going?”
The monk replied, “I’m going all over the place learning the five flavors of Zen.”
Kisu said, “Yes, there are the five flavors of Zen in various places, but here I have only one.”
The monk asked, “And what may be your one-flavored Zen?”
Kisu struck him.
The monk said, “I understand! I understand!”
Kisu said, “Tell me what! Tell me what!” and as the monk began to speak, Kisu struck him again.
At another time, a monk asked Kisu, “What is the Buddha?”
“If I tell you,” said Kisu, “will you believe me?”
The monk replied, “The master’s words are so momentous, how could I not believe them?”
Kisu said, “Simply, you are it.”
The monk asked, “How can we maintain this state?”
Kisu said, “If your eye is just a little clouded, flowery illusions are rampant.”
The monk was enlightened at this.
Maneesha, Zen is not what it says, but what it shows. It is a finger pointing to the moon in absolute silence. All words have to be understood as fingers pointing to the moon. It is not a philosophy, it is an indication.
You have to understand these anecdotes with this background in mind.
A monk had come to see Kisu and after a very brief stay was making his departure.
Kisu said, “Where are you going?”
These questions in Zen don’t have the same meaning as they have in common language. When a Zen master asks, “Where are you going?” he means, “There is no way to go anywhere, you are everywhere. Where can you go? Your consciousness is as wide as the whole universe: “Where are you going?”
In a simple question there is the tremendous implication that you are not the body you think, you are not the mind you think, and you are not the desire you think.
You are the witness which fills the whole universe.
You cannot go anywhere. Wherever you go, you are swimming into yourself. This whole ocean of existence is yours. It has no boundaries, no limits.
When Kisu asked, “Where are you going?” the monk replied,
“I’m going all over the place learning the five flavors of Zen.”
He could not understand the question. He understood the language but he could not see the indication.
“I’m going all over the place…” simply indicates he believes in his “I” and he also believes that he can go somewhere. He has heard about the five flavors of Zen, but about them he is also not exactly clear. “The five flavors of Zen” simply means your five senses fully awake. Even one sense fully awake will do. If you can see without any clouds of thoughts passing through the sky of your eyes, it is enough.
But nature is always a giver in abundance. A single sense would have been able to experience your being. Instead of one, existence has given you five senses – and still you have not found yourself. Five doors, and you have not entered into your own house. One would have been enough.
The five flavors of Zen mean five sensitivities. One can reach to Zen, to oneself, by smelling a roseflower. If you can become one with the rose, its fragrance, if you can forget yourself for a moment and just the rose remains – just for a moment the observer and the observed are one – you have found it. The truth, the beauty – what philosophers have been discussing, what poets have been singing, what musicians have been trying to produce on their instruments.
But nobody succeeds. Even the greatest poet knows the greater the poet, the more the experience that he has failed.
One of the greatest poets of India, Rabindranath Tagore, was on his deathbed. One of his old friends was consoling him: “Don’t be worried. Death comes to everybody and you have lived enough and lived richly. What more can one expect?”
Rabindranath opened his eyes and he said, “You are right and yet… I want it to be noted for future generations that I have not sung the song that I wanted to.”
He has left six thousand songs.
The man was puzzled because the greatest western poet, Shelley, had only two thousand songs to his name. Rabindranath had six thousand songs which could be put to music; which are not only poetries, which can also be sung. Yet his last statement is: “These were all my failures. Six thousand times I have failed; I have been trying to say something and it eludes me.”
The greater the musician, the greater the experience that the music that his being wanted to create, that his instrument…
[A furious monsoon rainstorm erupts and the power briefly goes out, plunging the whole assembly into an abrupt and silent darkness. When the power returns, Osho waits a few moments before beginning again.]
Do you hear the rain?
If you can hear it intensely, totally, this moment can become your enlightenment.
It is not a question to be discussed, it is an inquiry into your own inner space. It is stopping the mind from its wavering thoughts and coming to a stillness within you where nothing moves.
Kisu has asked, “Where are you going?” I ask you, “Where are you going?” It is raining too hard outside. Even the bamboos are dancing with the rain. If you can remain here without thinking, without mind… This is the place, the space. You don’t have to go anywhere else to find it.
Kisu said, “Yes, there are the five flavors of Zen in various places, but here I have only one.”
The monk asked, “And what may be your one-flavored Zen?”
Kisu struck him.
This striking is symbolic. It says, “It is you,” as loudly as possible. You are the only flavor, just be without wavering. And if you cannot find it in this beautiful climate, where are you going to find it? In this place where so many buddhas are present, knowing or unknowing, just gather yourself and look within yourself.
Kisu’s striking the poor monk was just to wake up the sleeping one. It is sleeping in everyone.
The monk said, “I understand! I understand!”
Kisu said, “Tell me what! Tell me what!” and as the monk began to speak, Kisu struck him again.
Zen cannot be said. The moment you start saying it, you have missed it. You can have it, you can be it, you can dance it, but you cannot bring it to words. It is a wordless experience of your being.
At another time, a monk asked Kisu, “What is the Buddha?”
“If I tell you,” said Kisu, “will you believe me?”
The monk replied, “The master’s words are so momentous, how could I not believe them?”
Kisu said, “Simply, you are it.”
This is the easiest and the most difficult thing in the world: to trust that you are a buddha. But whether you trust or not, you are a buddha, you cannot be otherwise. You are pure consciousness, you are pure existence.
The monk asked, “How can we maintain this state?”
Kisu said, “If your eye is just a little clouded, flowery illusions are rampant.”
The monk was enlightened at this.
But are you enlightened at this? It is so simple; you don’t need any education, you don’t need any teaching, you don’t need any culture. You are already there. From the very beginning of time, you are eternity in the moment.
If you don’t become enlightened, it is simply postponement. There is no hurry – you can become enlightened tomorrow or another life. But remember, unless you become enlightened you cannot get out of your misery, your tensions, your anguish, your meaninglessness. You cannot attain the splendor that is your inheritance.
It is better to do it quickly – this moment, without waiting – because you have been waiting for centuries. And the more you wait, the more you learn how to wait, the thicker and thicker your waiting becomes.
There is no need to wait, not even for a single moment. In this beautiful existence…
And today, this moment, it is especially beautiful. All around the dance of the rain, the commentaries of the bamboos and a silent gathering of thousands of buddhas…
Don’t miss it.
Maneesha has asked:
Osho,
I wonder, have I understood your words? Have I understood your silence? I only know that your words sound less like words these days; and that your silence feels like our silence – and that silence feels like the most familiar, the most natural of spaces.
Maneesha, I don’t have a staff in my hand, otherwise I would have given you three beats. Instead, Nivedano, give three beats!
[Drumbeat]
[Drumbeat]
[Drumbeat]
Those three beats are “yes” three times.
Before the rain stops I would like to share with these clouds, this rain, not only your silence but also your laughter. A silence without laughter is dead, and a laughter without silence is superficial. When silence and laughter are together it is something phenomenal, something of tremendous importance. Just as you are silent, also share your laughter with the rain.
Brother Brian, Brother Boris, and Brother Billy, three young novice monks, are about to go through their final trial before becoming fully-fledged friars.
An old abbot leads them into a luxurious room and tells them to take off their gowns and tie a small bell to their organs.
Suddenly, a gorgeous blonde enters the room wearing a scanty bikini, and one of the bells goes,
“Ding-a-ding! Ding-a ding!”
“Go stand in the showers, Brother Brian,” says the abbot.
The girl starts to slip out of her bikini…
“Ding-a-ding! Ding-a-ding!”
“Too bad, Brother Boris,” says the abbot, “Go to the showers, too!”
Finally, the girl is naked and starts writhing and dancing in front of Brother Billy. The bell remains silent.
“Praise the Lord!” shouts the abbot. “Congratulations, Brother Billy. You have passed. Now go and join those weaker souls in the showers!”
“Ding-a-ding! Ding-a ding!”
One of the zebras in a traveling circus gets sick, and the vet suggests that he should be rested at a nearby farm until he gets well.
The zebra makes a tour of the farmyard and greets all the animals.
“I am a zebra,” he says, “Who are you?”
“I am a chicken,” replies the chicken.
“And what do you do?” asks the zebra.
“I cluck a lot and lay eggs,” explains the chicken.
The zebra walks on and meets a cow.
“I am a zebra,” he announces, “Who are you?”
“I am a cow,” replies the cow.
“And what do you do?” asks the zebra.
“I moo and make milk,” replies the cow.
Next, the zebra meets a bull.
“I am a zebra,” he says, “Who are you?”
“I am a bull,” comes the reply.
“And what do you do?” asks the zebra.
“What do I do?” snorts the bull, “just take off those fancy pyjamas and I will show you!”
Pope the Polack and Ronald Reagan die and go to heaven. They ask for an interview with God, and find him sitting in a comfortable armchair.
“What have you done that you deserve to be in heaven?” God asks the pope.
“Well,” replies Pope the Polack, “I kissed the ground at most of the major airports of the world; I fought the evil communists, and opposed birth control so strongly that Catholics went forth and multiplied.”
“Very good!” says God. “Sit on my left side.”
Then God turns to Ronald Reagan.
“And what have you done,” he asks, “to deserve to be in heaven?”
“Well,” replies Reagan, “I was the most fundamentalist Christian president of all time. I drove Osho’s commune out of America, and caused the Third World War, thus bringing about your “Second Coming” to earth.”
“Good work,” says God, and then notices Osho standing there.
“Oh!” says God, quite embarrassed, “and what have you done that you deserve to be in heaven?”
“Cut the small talk,” says Osho, “and get out of my chair!”
Now, go into gibberish.
Nivedano…
[Drumbeat]
[Gibberish]
[Drumbeat]
Be silent, utterly silent, close your eyes and be in…
This. This very moment is the answer to all the questions ever asked.
You are the answer.
Nivedano…
[Drumbeat]
All fall back.
Let the body breathe, but you go deeper and deeper within yourself,
leaving the body almost like a shell surrounding you.
This.
This very moment is your buddha nature.
This is your eternity.
Nivedano…
[Drumbeat]
Come back to life, totally, intensely.
Nobody should remain in his grave.
If anybody is left in his grave
give a special beat for him, Nivedano…
[Drumbeat]
This is what Zen is all about – just a simple awareness.
A flame, unwavering,
a sword that cuts deep to the very core of your being.
Remember, Zen is not a word but only a shadow of an experience.
You are the reality.
Everything else is just non-essential commentary.