---
section: Library
booktitle: "Zen: The Quantum Leap From Mind to No-Mind"
booktype: "Discourses"
bookcode: "QUANT"
dategiven: "18 June 1988 pm"
place: " in Gautam the Buddha Auditorium"
chapternum: "Chapter #8"
chaptertitle: "This great assembly of people who love"
acode: "8806185"
shorttitle: "QUANT08"
audio: "Yes"
video: "Yes"
esttime: "50mins"
displaytitle: "Zen: The Quantum Leap From Mind to No-Mind: Chapter #8"
---

```style
.sutra {
  font-style: italic;
  white-space: pre-wrap !important;
}
```
<!--This file is automatically generated. Do not edit!-->
<p class="sutra">BELOVED OSHO,
A MONK ASKED SEIKE, "WHERE DOES A MONK GO WHEN HE DIES AND TRANSMIGRATES?"
SEIKE SAID, "THE CHOKO FLOWS ON AND ON, NEVER STOPPING; BUBBLES OBEY THE VAGARIES OF THE WIND."
THE MONK ASKED FURTHER, "DOES HE RECEIVE THE CEREMONIAL OFFERINGS?"
SEIKE SAID, "WE CAN'T SAY THERE ARE NO CEREMONIAL OFFERINGS."
"WHAT EXACTLY ARE THESE OFFERINGS?" ASKED THE MONK.
SEIKE SAID, "AS THE FISHERMAN'S SONG PUSHES THE OAR, HIS VOICE IS HEARD IN THE VALLEYS."
BEFORE CHU KOKUSHI DIED, EMPEROR SHUKUSHO ASKED HIM, "WHEN YOU ARE A HUNDRED YEARS OLD, WHAT SHALL I DO FOR YOU?"
KOKUSHI ANSWERED, "MAKE A SEAMLESS PAGODA FOR THIS OLD MONK."
THE EMPEROR SAID, "I WOULD LIKE TO ASK YOU WHAT STYLE IS IT TO BE?"
KOKUSHI REMAINED SILENT FOR A WHILE, AND THEN HE SAID, "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
"NO, I DO NOT," SAID THE EMPEROR.
"I HAVE A DISCIPLE CALLED TANGEN," SAID KOKUSHI, "WHO HAD THE DHARMA SEAL TRANSMITTED BY ME. HE IS WELL VERSED IN THIS MATTER. ASK HIM, PLEASE."
AFTER KOKUSHI'S DEATH, THE EMPEROR SENT FOR TANGEN AND ASKED HIM ABOUT IT. TANGEN SAID,
"SOUTH OF SHO AND NORTH OF TAN, IN BETWEEN, GOLD ABOUNDS.
THE FERRYBOAT UNDER THE SHADOWLESS TREE, NO HOLY ONE IN THE EMERALD PALACE YOU SEE."</p>


Maneesha, this evening and this silence, this great assembly of people who love is really the answer to the anecdote you have asked about. That's what the emperor could not understand when he asked, "What kind, what style of pagoda, of temple do you want to be erected?"


The master remained silent. Except silence, what can represent a Buddha, a Basho, a Nan-Sen? Only silence.


I will read the anecdote. Listen as silently as possible because your silence is the answer that has been raised in the anecdote.
<p class="sutra">A MONK ASKED SEIKE, "WHERE DOES A MONK GO WHEN HE DIES AND TRANSMIGRATES?"</p>


In the first place it is a stupid question because a man of enlightenment never dies, never transmigrates either. Transmigration is for the ignorant, from one form into another form, from one animalhood to another animalhood. But for the awakened, for the enlightened there is no death and no transmigration. He simply defuses into the wholeness of the cosmos.


He does not leave even his steps and their marks behind him just like a snowflake disappearing or an echo in the mountains.


He simply drops his bondage and makes the whole sky his being. He is everywhere and he is nowhere in particular.


SEIKE SAID, "THE CHOKO FLOWS" -- Choko is the name of a river. "THE CHOKO FLOWS ON AND ON, NEVER STOPPING; BUBBLES OBEY THE VAGARIES OF THE WIND." That's the language Zen prefers, the language of pure poetry, of pure music, of pure dance.


The Choko river flows on and on. It has been flowing for centuries or perhaps for millions of years and it will go on flowing; in the same way the enlightened one disappears into the ocean, drops the small cage that he used to think was himself -- his personality, his ego. Just like a drop of dew slipping from the lotus leaf and merging into the ocean, he disappears to appear everywhere. You have to risk to be nowhere if you want to be everywhere. But it is a good bargain.
<p class="sutra">SEIKE SAID, "THE CHOKO FLOWS ON AND ON, NEVER STOPPING; BUBBLES OBEY THE VAGARIES OF THE WIND."</p>


Only bubbles go here and there, transmigrate, follow the vagaries of the wind. Fashions and moods and emotions are nothing but soap bubbles. They move from one form into another form, from one place into another place. But the river itself simply continues. Just feel the silent river in which you are at this moment. This silence is eternal: it has always been here and it will always remain here.
<p class="sutra">THE MONK ASKED FURTHER, "DOES HE RECEIVE THE CEREMONIAL OFFERINGS?"</p>


The monk must have been a super-idiot. He has not heard what Seiko has said. He again repeats the same question from a different angle. "When the master is dead, does he receive the ceremonial offerings?"
<p class="sutra">SEIKE SAID, "WE CAN'T SAY THERE ARE NO CEREMONIAL OFFERINGS."
"WHAT EXACTLY ARE THESE OFFERINGS?" ASKED THE MONK.
SEIKE SAID, "AS THE FISHERMAN'S SONG PUSHES THE OAR, HIS VOICE IS HEARD IN THE VALLEYS."</p>


These offerings to the enlightened ones may be just a few roseflowers. He is asking whether they are received or not. That is not an authentic seeker's question. The question is whether you are offering or not. Those hands which could receive those flowers are no more encaged in flesh, in bones. And when you offer your love, your gratitude will be heard just as the echo of a fisherman's song pushes the oar and his voice is heard in the valleys.


It is difficult to talk about because of the very nature of the phenomenon. Once you become enlightened, you are no longer -- in the old sense. You are absolutely discontinuous with the old: the jump is quantum so the old language becomes absolutely inapplicable. All that can be said is: offerings are made; the whole existence receives them; no individual hands are going to receive your offerings.


And the very desire that your offerings should be received is basically wrong: your offerings should be unconditional. They should be out of your love, not out of your desire, not out of any demand. It is just a joy, a dance that a few human beings have disappeared into the cosmic whole.


Your offering is simply a symbolic indication that you would also like to disappear like an echo, slowly, slowly, not leaving any trace behind; just as a bird flies but does not leave footprints in the sky.
<p class="sutra">BEFORE CHU KOKUSHI DIED, EMPEROR SHUKUSHO ASKED HIM, "WHEN YOU ARE A HUNDRED YEARS OLD, WHAT SHALL I DO FOR YOU?"
KOKUSHI ANSWERED, "MAKE A SEAMLESS PAGODA FOR THIS OLD MONK."
THE EMPEROR SAID, "I WOULD LIKE TO ASK YOU, WHAT STYLE IS IT TO BE?"</p>


KOKUSHI REMAINED SILENT FOR A WHILE -- this silence was the answer. But only those who are silent can understand the language of silence. Only those whose hearts are present in the moment can dance.


But the emperor could not understand Kokushi and his silence. After a while he said, "DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
<p class="sutra">"NO, I DO NOT," SAID THE EMPEROR.
"I HAVE A DISCIPLE CALLED TANGEN," SAID KOKUSHI, "WHO HAD THE DHARMA SEAL TRANSMITTED BY ME. HE IS WELL VERSED IN THIS MATTER. ASK HIM, PLEASE."</p>


The emperor has not understood the master because the master will not descend from his silence. He sends him to a disciple.
<p class="sutra">AFTER KOKUSHI'S DEATH, THE EMPEROR SENT FOR TANGEN AND ASKED HIM ABOUT IT. TANGEN SAID, "SOUTH OF SHO AND NORTH OF TAN, IN BETWEEN, GOLD ABOUNDS."</p>


Between these two mountains, gold abounds.
"THE FERRYBOAT UNDER THE SHADOWLESS TREE"... Just see how Zen is more pictorial than linguistic.
<p class="sutra">"THE FERRYBOAT UNDER THE SHADOWLESS TREE, NO HOLY ONE IN THE EMERALD PALACE YOU SEE."</p>


The anecdote ends because the emperor could not see the heart of silence, the heart of the universal music, the language of the shadows and the poetry of love. But you should not miss. Do you understand? In this silence is the whole secret.
<p class="question">Maneesha has asked:
BELOVED OSHO,
WHENEVER I TRY TO DIE EACH NIGHT -- TO CLOSE DOWN MY SENSES AND BE DEAD -- I ONLY FEEL LIFE TRYING TO ASSERT ITSELF MORE VIGOROUSLY. AM I DOING IT WRONGLY OR IS THAT WHAT IS MEANT TO HAPPEN? OR ARE THERE NO "MEANT TO HAPPENS" HERE?</p>


Maneesha, it is meant to happen. I am a teacher of life, not of death; but I can teach you only if you are ready even to die for life. Already you are so dead, and still you believe through your whole life that you are alive. But this life is lukewarm. Hence in the meditation I try to help you, to push you deeper into death because as far as I am concerned death is a fiction. The whole intention is that as you try to be more and more dead, you will find life asserting itself.


It is a very deep dialectical process. The more you try to die, the more you will find yourself fresh and young and newly born. I teach resurrection. Jesus should not have the monopoly of being resurrected, it is everybody's right. You don't have to hang on a cross, you can simply die here. You can just leave the body and go in, fearlessly, because there is the eternal treasure of being.


There is no question of losing anything; relax totally so that all energy moves inwards, gathers inwards, becomes a concentrated phenomenon. That's why you are feeling more alive. I want you to be more alive -- alive forever, because that is your nature; only recognition is needed.


Meditation is simply a method to recognize the eternity of life and the fiction of death.


This silence is so precious that even the bamboos are not making commentaries today. But I will still give them a little chance to laugh. Laughter dignifies you because no animal laughs. Laughter proves life because dead men don't laugh.


Little Muni Bramachappati, youngest daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Rama Bramachappati, a fifteen-year-old child, is suddenly awakened by deep moaning and groaning coming from the neighbor's flat in "D" building, Popular Heights.


Sleepy-eyed, she goes into her parents' room and asks, "Mom, what is that noise coming from next door?"


"Don't bother about it, dear," says Mrs. Bramachappati. "That young German lady must have a headache."


Twenty minutes later, little Muni is woken again. "Hey mom," she cries. "It sounds like the young German lady is really suffering now!"


"Just don't bother about it, dear," replies her mother. "She must be having a fever -- just go to sleep."


A few minutes later little Muni is woken again. But this time it is a male voice joining in chorus, yelping and roaring, followed by deep silence.
"Mom! Mom! Call the doctor!" cries Muni.
"What is it?" asks Mrs. Bramachappati.


"Well," says Muni, "that poor German girl's fever has just infected that nice American man from downstairs!"

Kowalski goes to stay in a big hotel in Los Angeles for the first time.


"I am not going to have this room," Kowalski complains to the bell-boy. "It is so small I can hardly move in it. It is no better than a pigsty, and I am not going to sleep on that tiny folding bed. Just because I am a Polack, don't think you can fool me!"
"Please get in, sir," says the bell-boy. "This is the elevator!"


Pope the Polack is picked up outside the Vatican on suspicion of rape. He is taken to the police station, finger-printed, booked, and locked in a cell.


A few hours later, he is placed in a line with five other men. He looks around him with some curiosity. There are several cops, some plainclothesmen, and the rape victim. Seeing her, he leaps out of the line and pointing excitedly shouts, "That is her! That is her!"


Mike, the barman at the Dublin Hotel, is thoroughly fed up with Paddy. Every night, Paddy comes in five minutes before closing time, orders three beers and proceeds to drink them very slowly, forcing Mike to stay late. So Mike has an idea. He has heard about Kowalski working as a gorilla, so he goes and asks him to come to the pub that night.


Kowalski waits in the back room in his gorilla suit, and when Mike has served Paddy his three beers, he goes and tells Kowalski to bang his chest, scream and make as much noise as possible. Hearing such frightening noises from the back room the whole pub clears out immediately, except Paddy, who continues sipping his beer.
Then Mike says, "Go out there and really scare him!"


So Kowalski bursts through the door, roaring, banging his chest and jumping up and down. But still Paddy sips his beer. Then Mike shouts, "Get him, gorilla!"


Kowalski leaps over the bar and jumps on Paddy and they roll out of the door, wrestling. Mike can hear a terrible noise of fighting outside, but when it is over, to Mike's horror, Paddy walks in. He is covered in blood and hair, and dusting himself off, sits down and says, "My God! Give a Polack a fur coat and he thinks he owns the place!"


Remember, the first step in meditation is to forget the whole world and just bring out all your craziness in rubbish, gibberish sounds, gestures. But be total because once you are freed of it, then there is a possibility of going deeper into silence than you have ever gone.


The second step will be silence. To make it still deeper, the third step will be falling dead so that your whole life energy shrinks at the center of your being, throbbing and giving you the taste a buddha has every moment.

Rupesh, hit the drum for the first step.

(Drumbeat)
(Gibberish)

Rupesh...

(Drumbeat)

Be silent, totally silent.
Close your eyes,
no movement.
Just be.

This silence, this moment
is the answer
to all the questions ever asked.

Rupesh, give the third drum.

(Drumbeat)

Fall dead.
Take yourself as deep inwards as possible.
Leave the body, leave the mind.
Take a quantum leap
from mind to no-mind.

No-mind is your very being.

Remember all the buddhas
of the past and future are watching.
Deeper and deeper, fearlessly,
move into the unknown being
of your own existence.

This is what cannot be said in words.
This is where language fails to express.
This evening is blessed
because you are
entering into the innermost temple,
experiencing the ultimate flowering
of your potential.
Rupesh, the drum.
(Drumbeat)

Come back to life,
resurrected, new, fresh.
Don't ever look back.
The whole existence
is now and here.

Okay, Maneesha?
Yes, Osho.
Can we celebrate?
YES!
			

> [!info]
> Copyright 1964-1990 Osho (Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh)
>