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Part X : 1987-1990 Poona-Two : Haikus
For many years, Osho has commented on haikus, small poems from
Japan. Now he illustrates his discourses with poetry
A haiku is a special form of poetry which exists only in Japan.
It has very few words but it tells much. Its beauty is that it
is a condensed philosophy. And what cannot be said in prose, can
sometimes be said in poetry.
Both plains and mountains have been
Captured by the snow—
There is nothing left.
He is describing his own being. Everything has been taken away.
Even he has disappeared into the vastness of the universe; nothing
is left behind. Just as a dewdrop disappears into the ocean, a
man of enlightenment disappears into the universal consciousness.
Nothing is left behind. matzu10
These haikus are, as I have said to you, paintings in words.
hyaku02
Haikus don't belong to time. No objective art belongs to time;
it is forever, because it comes from beyond the mind, from eternity
itself. That's why you feel as if these haikus are written for
you. These incidents have happened for you. This will be forever
so; as long as man goes on searching for inner truth these haikus
will remain contemporary, these anecdotes will not become out-of-date.
nansen09
These are not ordinary poems. These are statements of something
that cannot be said but still has to be said. You can sing it
but you cannot say it, you can dance it but you cannot say it.
It is in my gesture but it is not in my word. You can see it but
I cannot show it to you. cuckoo04
Temple bells die out.
The fragrant blossoms remain—
a perfect evening!
Basho writes with such a golden touch.
You can see it exactly! You can hear the bell ringing and dying
into deep silence. You can see the blossoms still remain, and
the fragrance.
The silence deepens, the fragrance deepens…a perfect evening.
Haikus are, as I have told you, word pictures. Without painting,
just through words, the haiku paints a picture, a very living
picture. With paints the picture is dead. The poet's great art
consists in painting a picture that will remain alive forever.
1seed03
Kido wrote:
This cold night bamboos stir;
Their sound—now harsh, now soft—
Sweeps through the lattice window.
Though ear is no match for mind,
What need, by lamplight,
Of a single scripture leaf?
The moonlit night and the silence…there is no need of any
scripture.
You are the only scripture.
Just learn to read yourself. cuckoo08
Another poem runs:
In the utter silence
Of a temple,
A cuckoo's voice alone
Penetrates the rocks.
These are great statements. Just feel for a moment…because
these poems are written not to be understood by the mind, but
to be felt by the heart like a cool breeze.
In the utter silence—and that silence is here—Of a
temple, A cuckoo's voice alone Penetrates the rocks.
In this silence you discover your truth, your beauty. cuckoo13
The cuckoo:
Its voice alone fell,
Leaving nothing behind.
When every day in meditation you throw away all your garbage,
what is left behind is pure silence. cuckoo15
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