Can we celebrate the ten thousand buddhas?

I have not found anything better to create a right space to enter into yourself, because your mind cannot understand laughter. Laughter is very illogical. A logical person cannot laugh, a logical person is confined to a very small area.

I have not heard that Kant ever laughed. He could not, he was too serious a person. Just now I was talking to you about J. Krishnamurti…. He used to come to India at least once or twice a year. He went to only three places: Varanasi, New Delhi and Bombay. I had instructed all my sannyasins, “Wherever he is, either in India or outside India, just sit in the front line wherever he is speaking. And don’t forget the orange and the mala.”

And that was enough. Then he would not speak on any other subject. That was enough to make him so angry, “I have been telling my whole life …!” And my people enjoyed it, they loved it. Even a few people who were not sannyasins used to go in orange, borrowing a mala from a friend.

Just a single sannyasin was enough. Then he would forget everything that he was going to say. Then he just had to condemn me, condemn sannyas, condemn everything – not understanding a simple thing, that he was being easily distracted. What does it matter? Somebody is wearing orange and having a mala… it is none of his business.

But he was a serious man. He would hit his own head. He would become so angry… particularly in Bombay, because I was in Bombay. So hundreds of sannyasins would be sitting in the front, and he would hit his head. I am so lazy that I cannot even hit my own head, let alone anybody else’s. I am keeping for that purpose Zen Master Sekito – Stonehead.

(Osho addresses Niskriya)

Where is your staff?

(Niskriya picks up his staff and shows it to Osho)

Yes, that’s good, because any moment it may be needed. And I have chosen a German Zen master… because Japanese Zen masters will hit, but their hit will be just like a peacock feather. A real hit only a German knows.

And just look at his stonehead. Have you shaved your hairs or not? Shave them completely.

(Niskriya raises his eyebrows in a question, pointing to his new beard – this too?)

Yes, let it go.

Proper Sagar has arrived. Many of you may not know him – he is a very ancient sannyasin – but most of the old sannyasins will remember Proper Sagar. He is so proper in everything.

Proper Sagar goes to visit Doctor Azima. He hangs up his umbrella and his hat. Then he takes off his jacket, his shirt and tie, and his trousers — folding them up very neatly and putting them on the chair. Then he takes off his shoes and puts them under the chair, straight. Then he takes off his underwear, folds them nicely, and also puts them on the chair.
Standing stiffly in front of Azima, Sagar calmly says, “As you can see, Doctor, my left testicle hangs lower than my right one.”
“Oh,” smiles Azima, “but that-a is perfectly normal. You have-a nothing to worry about.”
“I am not worrying,” replies Proper Sagar. “But don’t you think it is a bit untidy?”

Pope the Polack is on a pilgrimage in Calcutta where he makes an official visit to Mother Teresa’s orphanage.
Mother Teresa is showing him around, and the Polack is bending and kissing everything in sight. Suddenly, as he bends over to kiss Mother Teresa’s pride and joy, the new church organ, the pope recoils in terror. There, stretched out across the top of the organ, is a big black condom.
Purple with rage, Pope the Polack demands an explanation from Mother Teresa.
“Well,” says Mother Teresa, “one of my orphans found it in a package on the street, and when I read the label it said: ‘Place on organ and feel secure.'”

Harold, Bill and Gabby, three tired and hungry cowboys, are sitting around a campfire about to eat dinner. Jose, the cook, a grimy, stubble-faced huge Mexican guy, throws down the pot and holds up his gun.
“The first one of you jerks who makes a fuss about your supper gets trouble from me!” says Jose.
There is careful silence as the purple and green slop is served up, and the eating begins.
“God!” shrieks Harold, gagging and turning blue. “This stuff tastes like shit.”
Then, immediately eyeing the big Mexican, Harold adds enthusiastically, “But good shit, real good shit.”

Doctor Feelgood is visiting the insane asylum to see the latest condition of some of his patients. He is led into the first room, opens the door, and meets Charlie Rosenkrantz. At that moment Mr. Rosenkrantz is swinging an imaginary golf club in the air.
“Well, Charlie,” says Feelgood. “When do you think you will be getting out?”
“No problem,” replies Charlie, swinging away. “Just as soon as I hit a hole-in-one.”
Feelgood shakes his head and goes on to the next room. There he finds Chester Cheese swinging an imaginary baseball bat.
“Hello, Chester,” says Feelgood. “And when do you think you will be getting out?”
“Oh, soon,” replies Chester. “Just as soon as I hit this home-run.”
Feelgood shakes his head again, and is led to the next room. He walks in and finds Donald Dickstein rubbing a bag of peanuts up against his open zipper.
“Hello, Donald,” says Feelgood. “And when do you think you will be getting out?”
“Out? Are you kidding?” says Donald excitedly. “I’m fucking nuts!”

Now, Nivedano… give the beat.

(Drumbeat)

(Gibberish)

Nivedano …

(Drumbeat)

Be silent… close your eyes …
feel frozen. Collect your life energy,
your consciousness, within.
This is the place
where you have roots in the universe.
This is the place
which makes one a buddha.
Go deeper, without any fear.
It is unknown, unfamiliar,
but don’t be worried —
it is your own self.

Remember these heights…
remember these depths…
remember you are part of this universe.
Drop all separation.
Just slip like a dewdrop
from the lotus leaf into the ocean.
To disappear in this ocean
is to become the ocean.

To make it more clear, Nivedano…

(Drumbeat)

Relax… let go…
The body is there, lying…
it is not you.
The mind is there,
maybe a few clouds still hovering around…
but it is not you.
You are the watcher on the hills.
This silent night,
and ten thousand buddhas
watching silently.
There cannot be anything greater,
or more significant.
The clouds have also joined,
the bamboos are making commentaries.

I hope there will be a day
when the whole humanity
will understand this buddhahood.
Spread this experience
to all those who are groping in darkness.

But never be a missionary;
just be a message…
loving, compassionate.
Let your whole body, your actions,
make them aware
that something immensely valuable
has happened within you;
that you are carrying a flame,
that you are carrying a fragrance,
that your eyes have become as blue
and as vast
and as deep
as the sky itself.

This I call “to be a message.”
Except becoming a buddha,
there is no way
to convey what you are experiencing.
And remember:
once a buddha,
forever a buddha.
Nivedano…

(Drumbeat)

Call all the buddhas back.
Slowly and silently…
sit for a few moments…
just reflecting…
collecting…
remembering what has happened to you…
where you have been.
Remember the route so you can go,
anytime you want,
into the temple.
You are the temple,
and deep inside you is the buddha.

Okay, Maneesha?
Yes, Beloved Master.

Can we celebrate the ten thousand buddhas?
Yes, Beloved Master.

Osho, Dogen, the Zen Master: A Search and a Fulfillment, Ch 8