Out of this silence the cuckoo sings

The Urgency

Beloved Osho, Is there actually something to be heard? Or is it that as we refine our sense of listening, we are refined, and by the time we are able to listen totally, we are totally transformed?

signature by Osho

Maneesha, your question is not a question but an answer.

Now, Miyan Farookh has come here… (Osho smiles at the small son of ashramite Zareen, and snaps his fingers) …being very silent, sitting in a buddha posture. A few laughs in Miyan Farookh’s honor:


At dinner one evening, the cannibal chief complains, “I hate my mother-in-law.”

“Well then,” says his wife, “just eat the vegetables!”


Ma Papaya Pineapple is doing her new group, the Primal-Encounter-Breath Massage of the Neo-Rebalancing-Psychic Inner-Release.

Of course, halfway through the group she falls madly in love with the therapist, Swami Deva Cleverhead. But the rules are that she cannot connect with the therapist until the group is over.

Finally, the group ends and Papaya Pineapple rushes home. She showers, doesn’t shave, and puts on her sexiest silk and satin see-through sari. Then she finds Cleverhead and invites him to dinner at the Blue Diamond.

After they finish dining, Papaya Pineapple buys brandy and dessert, still hoping for a big night. At last she invites him up to her flat for an after-dinner herb tea.

Sitting on her huge bed, she lays back and smiles. After a long silence – a very long silence – Swami Cleverhead says, “My feeling about you, Papaya, is that you want something but you just don’t put it out.”

“Put it out?” cries Papaya. “Thank you for sharing, Swami, but don’t you think it’s time that you put it in?”


While Kowalski is in the hospital, after a nasty accident, he receives this letter from his mother:

Dear Son,

Just a few lines to let you know that I be still alive. I am writing this letter slowly because I know you don’t read too fast.

You won’t recognize the house when you get home because we moved. There be a washing machine in the house when we moved in, but it not working too good. Last week I put ten of your father’s shirts into it, pull the chain, and I not seen the shirts since.

Your sister Hannah had a baby this morning. I not find out yet if it be a boy or a girl. So I not know if you be an uncle or an aunt.

Your uncle Lenny drown in a huge barrel of whiskey last week. Some men dived in to save him, but he fought them off hard. We cremated his body, but it took three days to put out the fire.

Weather is good. It only rain twice last week. First for three days, then for four days.

Try to learn to write soon,

Your loving Mother

P.S. I was going to send you ten dollars, but I have already sealed the envelope.


Pope the Polack and President Ronald Reagan are meeting in Warsaw, the capital of Poland.

They have come for the official opening of the first public swimming pool in the city. There is much fanfare and royal display. Pope the Polack bends down to kiss the ground around the pool, while Ronald Reagan looks on. Then Reagan cuts the ribbon, officially opening the pool.

Hundreds of screaming Polacks rush and jump in, to fill the huge pool. Then they scream even louder, get out, and jump in again.

“It seems the people are really enjoying themselves,” smiles Pope the Polack.

“Yes,” says Reagan, “and they will enjoy themselves even more once it is filled with water.”


Now, get ready for Nivedano’s beat, and don’t try in any way to save anything inside. Throw it out. Give it to anybody, but don’t keep it to yourself!

Nivedano …




Be silent.

Close your eyes, no movement… just go within.

Deeper and deeper…

The deeper you go, the more you are.

Unless you reach your very center, you don’t know who you are, what is the mystery of life.

In this very moment you are a buddha, awakened.

Keep this awareness.

Don’t again forget it!

To forget awareness is the only sin and to remember it is the only virtue.



Everybody dies.

Die totally, don’t hesitate, because your life source is beyond death.

This silence is Zen.

Out of this silence the cuckoo sings, out of this silence the roses bloom.

This silence is the language of existence itself.



Everybody comes back, but without forgetting your inner reality.

Come back rejuvenated.

Come back with the fragrance of your inner sources.

Except this there is no religiousness.

Okay, Maneesha?

Yes, Osho.

Can we celebrate so many buddhas meeting under one roof for the first time in history?


Osho, Zen: The Solitary Bird, Ch 7, Q 1 (excerpt)

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