When laughter comes out of silence

This story is one of the most significant ones, because from this was passed the tradition of Zen. Buddha was the source, and Mahakashyap was the first, the original master of Zen. Buddha was the source, Mahakashyap was the first master, and this story is the source from where the whole tradition — one of the most beautiful and alive that exists on earth, the tradition of Zen — started.

Try to understand this story. Buddha came one morning, and as usual a crowd had gathered, many people were waiting to listen to him. But one thing was unusual — he was carrying a flower in his hand. Never before had he carried anything in his hand. People thought that someone must have presented it to him. Buddha came, he sat under the tree. The crowd waited and waited and he would not speak. He wouldn’t even look at them, he just went on looking at the flower. Minutes passed, then hours, and the people became very much restless.

It is said that Mahakashyap couldn’t contain himself. He laughed loudly. Buddha called him, gave him the flower and said to the gathered crowd, “Whatsoever can be said through words I have said to you, and that which cannot be said through words I give to Mahakashyap. The key cannot be communicated verbally. I hand over the key to Mahakashyap.”

This is what Zen masters call transference of the key without scripture — beyond scripture, beyond words, beyond mind. He gave the flower to Mahakashyap, and nobody could understand what happened. Neither Mahakashyap nor Buddha ever commented upon it again. The whole chapter was closed. Since then, in China, in Tibet, in Thailand, in Burma, in Japan, in Ceylon — everywhere Buddhists have been asking for these twenty-five centuries, “What was given to Mahakashyap? What was the key?”

The whole story seems to be very esoteric. Buddha was not secretive; this was the only incident…. Buddha was a very rational being. He talked rationally, he was not a mad ecstatic, he argued rationally, and his logic was perfect — you could not find a loophole in it. This was the only incident where he behaved illogically, where he did something which was mysterious. He was not a mysterious man at all. You cannot find another master who was less mysterious. […]

In Zen monasteries they have been laughing and laughing and laughing. Laughter becomes prayer only in Zen, because Mahakashyap started it. Twenty-five centuries ago, on a morning just like this, Mahakashyap started a new trend, absolutely new, unknown to the religious mind before — he laughed. He laughed at the whole foolishness, the whole stupidity. And Buddha didn’t condemn; rather, on the contrary, he called him near, gave him the flower and spoke to the crowd. And when the crowd heard the laughter they must have thought, “This man has gone mad. This man is disrespectful to Buddha, because how can you laugh before a Buddha? When a Buddha is sitting silently, how can you laugh? This man is not paying respect.”

The mind will say that this is disrespect. The mind has its own rules, but the heart does not know them; the heart has its own rules, but the mind has never heard about them. The heart can laugh and be respectful; the mind cannot laugh, it can only be sad and then be respectful. But what kind of respect is this which cannot laugh? A very new trend entered with Mahakashyap’s laughter, and down the centuries the laughter has continued. Only Zen masters, Zen disciples, laugh.

All over the world, all religions have become ill because sadness has become so prominent. And temples and churches look like graveyards; they don’t look festive, they don’t give a sense of celebration. If you enter a church what do you see there? Not life, but death — Jesus crucified on the cross completes the whole sadness there. Can you laugh in a church, dance in a church, sing in a church? Yes, singing is there, but that is sad, and people sit with long faces. No wonder nobody wants to go to church — it’s just a social duty to be fulfilled; no wonder nobody is attracted to the church — it is a formality. Religion has become a Sunday thing. For one hour you can tolerate being sad.

Mahakashyap laughed before Buddha, and since then, saints, monks, sannyasins, masters, have been doing such things which religious minds — so-called religious minds — cannot even conceive of. If you have seen any Zen book you may have seen Zen masters depicted, painted. No painting is true. If you look at Bodhidharma’s painting or Mahakashyap’s painting, they are not true to their faces, but just looking at them you will have a feeling of laughter. They are hilarious, they are ridiculous.

Look at Bodhidharma’s painting. He must have been one of the most beautiful men; that he was otherwise is not possible, because whenever a man becomes enlightened a beauty descends, a beauty which comes from the beyond. A blessing comes to his whole being. But look at Bodhidharma’s painting. He looks ferocious and dangerous. He looks so dangerous that you will become scared if he comes to visit you in the night — never again in your life will you be able to sleep. He looks so dangerous, as if he is going to kill you. It was just disciples laughing at the master, creating a ridiculous portrait. It looks like a cartoon.

All Zen masters are depicted in a ridiculous way. Disciples enjoy it. But those portraits carry a quality that Bodhidharma is dangerous, that if you go to him he will kill you, that you cannot escape him, that he will follow you and haunt you, that wherever you go he will be there, that unless he kills you he cannot leave you. That is the thing depicted with all Zen masters, even Buddha.

If you look at Japanese and Chinese paintings of Buddha, they don’t look like the Indian Buddha. They have changed him totally. If you look at Indian paintings of Buddha, his body is proportionate, as it should be. He was a prince, then a buddha, a beautiful man, perfect, proportionate. A big-bellied Buddha? — he never had a big belly. But in Japan, in his paintings, his scriptures, he is painted with a big belly, because a man who laughs must have a big belly. Belly laughter — how can you do it with a small belly? You cannot do it. They are joking with Buddha, and they have said such things about Buddha — only very deep love can do that, otherwise it looks insulting.

Bankei always insisted on having a painting of Buddha just behind him, and talking to his disciples he would say, “Look at this fellow. Whenever you meet him kill him immediately, don’t give him a chance. While meditating he will come to disturb you. Whenever you see his face in meditation, just kill him then and there; otherwise he will follow you.” And he used to say, “Look at this fellow! if you repeat his name” — because Buddhists go on repeating, namo buddhaya, namo buddhaya — “if you repeat his name, then go and wash your mouth.” It looks insulting. It is Buddha’s name and this man says, “If you repeat it, the first thing to do is wash your mouth. Your mouth has become dirty.”

And he is right — because words are words; whether it is the name of Buddha or not makes no difference. Whenever a word crosses your mind, your mind has become dirty. Wash out even Buddha’s name. And this man, keeping the portrait of Buddha always behind him, would bow down to it every morning. So his disciples asked, “What are you doing? You go on telling us: Kill this man, don’t allow him to stand in the way. And you say: Don’t take his name, don’t repeat it; if it comes wash your mouth. And now we see you bowing down.”

So Bankei said, “All this has been taught to me by this man, this fellow, so I have to pay respect.”

Mahakashyap laughed, and this laughter carried many dimensions in it. One dimension was at the foolishness of the whole situation, at a buddha silent and nobody understanding him, everybody expecting him to speak. His whole life Buddha had been saying that the truth cannot be spoken, and still everybody expected him to speak. The second dimension — he laughed at Buddha also, at the whole dramatic situation he had created, sitting there with a flower in his hand, looking at the flower, creating so much uneasiness, restlessness in everybody. At this dramatic gesture of buddha he laughed and he laughed.

The third dimension — he laughed at his own self. Why couldn’t he understand up to now? The whole thing was easy and simple. And the day you understand, you will laugh, because there is nothing to be understood. There is no difficulty to be solved. Everything has always been simple and clear. How could you miss it?

With Buddha sitting silent, the birds singing in the trees, the breeze passing through the trees, and everybody restless, Mahakashyap understood. What did he understand? He understood that there is nothing to be understood, there is nothing to be said, there is nothing to be explained. The whole situation is simple and transparent. Nothing is hidden in it. There is no need to search, because all that is, is here and now, within you. He laughed at his own self also, at the whole absurd effort of many lives just to understand this silence — at so much thinking.

Buddha called him, gave him the flower and said, “Hereby, I give you the key.” What is the key? Silence and laughter is the key — silence within, laughter without. And when laughter comes out of silence, it is not of this world, it is divine.

When laughter comes out of thinking it is ugly; it belongs to this ordinary, mundane world, it is not cosmic. Then you are laughing at somebody else, at somebody else’s cost, and it’s ugly and violent.

When laughter comes out of silence you are not laughing at anybody’s cost, you are simply laughing at the whole cosmic joke. And it really is a joke! That’s why I go on telling jokes to you… because jokes carry more than any scriptures. It is a joke because inside you you have everything, and you are searching everywhere. What else should a joke be? You are a king and acting like a beggar in the streets; not only acting, not only deceiving others, but deceiving yourself that you are a beggar. You have the source of all knowledge and are asking questions; you have the knowing self and think that you are ignorant; you have the deathless within you and are afraid and fearful of death and disease. This really is a joke, and if Mahakashyap laughed, he did well.

But except for Buddha, nobody understood. He accepted the laughter and immediately realized that Mahakashyap had attained. The quality of that laugh was cosmic. He understood the whole joke of the situation. There was nothing else to it. The whole thing is as if the divine is playing hide-and-seek with you. Others thought Mahakashyap was a fool, laughing in front of Buddha. But Buddha thought this man had become wise. Fools always have a subtle wisdom in them, and the wise always act like fools. […]

Buddha must have known Mahakashyap. He must have known when he was looking at the flower silently and everybody was restless, he must have known only one being was there, Mahakashyap, who was not restless. Buddha must have felt the silence coming from Mahakashyap, but he would not call. When he laughed, then he called him and gave him the flower. Why? Silence is only the half of it. Mahakashyap would have missed if he had been innocently silent and didn’t laugh. Then the key would not have been given to him. He was only half grown, not yet a fully grown tree, not blossoming. The tree was there, but flowers had not yet come. Buddha waited.

Now, I will tell you why Buddha waited for so many minutes, why for one or two or three hours he waited. Mahakashyap was silent but he was trying to contain laughter, he was trying to control laughter. He was trying not to laugh because it would be so unmannerly: What would Buddha think? What would the others think? But then, the story says, he couldn’t contain himself any more. It had to come out as a laugh. The flood became too much, and he couldn’t contain it any more. When silence is too much it becomes laughter; it becomes so overflooded that it starts overflowing in all directions. He laughed. It must have been a mad laughter, and in that laughter there was no Mahakashyap. Silence was laughing, silence had come to a blossoming.

Then immediately Buddha called Mahakashyap: “Take this flower — this is the key. I have given to all others what can be given in words, but to you I give that which cannot be given in words. The message beyond words, the most essential, I give to you.” Buddha waited for those hours so that Mahakashyap’s silence became overflooded, it became laughter.

Your enlightenment is perfect only when silence has come to be a celebration. Hence my insistence that after you meditate you must celebrate. After you have been silent you must enjoy it, you must have a thanksgiving. A deep gratitude must be shown towards the whole just for the opportunity that you are, that you can meditate, that you can be silent, that you can laugh.

Anything more?

Osho, A Bird on the Wing, Ch 10 (excerpt)