No Question Means the Answer

Question 1:

Anand Chinmaya, it cannot be true that you really feel too lazy; otherwise who has written this question?

A man was lying down on the couch of a very famous psychoanalyst, and he was continuously talking about his failures in life, failures of all kinds in all directions. He was trying to prove that he was an utter failure, the ultimate in failure, that there was nobody in the world who was more of a failure than he was.

The psychoanalyst listened to him silently as long as he could tolerate, and then he said, "Stop all this nonsense! You cannot be such a failure!"

The man said, "Why?"

The psychoanalyst said, "If you were a failure you would not be able to afford my fee! If you can afford my fee for years -- and I am the most expensive psychoanalyst in the world -- how can you be a failure?"

You can ask such a beautiful question and you think you are lazy? And still you are asking what to do. If you are really lazy you should ask what NOT to do. Lazy you can be, but at least be consistently lazy. Either you are a philosopher or a Polack! In fact, both are synonymous! If you like big names, beautiful words, then think of yourself as a philosopher.

In the past, particularly in the Middle Ages, many mystics used the word "foolosopher" for philosopher -- and they were right. If you want to be down to earth, then the fact is that you are simply a Polack. Philosophers are expected to ask such things....

Centuries after Hamlet had told us what the question is -- "To be or not to be?" -- Gertrude Stein's deathbed utterance became a familiar quotation. Remember it, Chinmaya, when you are dying! Just before dying she opened her eyes and said, "What is the answer?"

The people who were around her were a little bit puzzled: "How can one suddenly ask, `What is the answer?' when even the question has not been mentioned?"

Somebody gathered courage and responded to Stein's remark, "But we don't know the question!"

She smiled her beautiful smile and said, "Okay, then what is the question?"

Neither the question is known nor the answer is known, and you need not do anything. If there is no question at all, it is simply far out! Why create trouble for yourself? Why hanker after trouble? If there is no question, you have attained the answer! No question means the answer.

You are not here to ask questions. I am not here to answer your questions. You are here to be ready to destroy all your questions; I am here to go on hammering on your questions so that they are shattered. I will not give you any answer, I will only destroy your questions. And a moment comes when there is no question, no answer, and that is the state of samadhi, that is the state of ultimate consciousness. When words disappear, thoughts disappear, knowledge disappears, ignorance disappears. When only pure consciousness is left just like a mirror reflecting that which is, just like THIS moment...a silent pause.... You can hear the traffic noise...it always happens! That's why the mystics say existence is such a harmony! You can hear the birds, you can even hear the silence...this throbbing of the hearts. This is the state which we are searching for -- not for questions, not for answers.

The philosopher was at his favorite occupation -- lying in the sun. The flies buzzed around and settled thickly on his face, but he was too lazy to shoo them away. Finally a hornet lit among the flies and stung his nose. This was different. He slowly wiped his hand across his face.

"As long as some of you won't behave," he muttered, "all of you will have to get off!"

Questions don't know how to behave. They are all like hornets lit amongst the flies. Your answers are like flies and your questions are like hornets lit amongst the flies. They all have to be wiped off.

The mind has to be utterly emptied.

The empty mind is the buddha mind.

But if you don't want to be a philosopher, if you are not interested in wiping off all the problems, all the questions, then you can be a Polack. That is the same in a more gross way. The philosopher is subtle, the Polack is gross, but they belong to the same ladder.

The Polack may be the lowest rung and the philosopher the highest rung, but the ladder is the same.

Frankowski showed up at the practice field to try out for the high school football team.

"What position do you want to play?" asked the coach.

"Quarterback!" answered Frankowski.

The coach handed him a football and said, "Do you think you can pass this ball?"

"Hell," said the Polack, "if I can swallow it, I can pass it too!"

A journalist visiting a local penitentiary in the heart of Poland is being shown around by warden Poltowsky. As they enter the maximum security block, the reporter is surprised to hear a shout from one of the cells, "Twenty-two!" followed by raucous laughter from all the other cells.

Another voice then shouts, "Forty-three!" which is again followed by loud outbursts of laughter.

"What is going on, warden?" asked the bewildered journalist.

"It is quite simple really," replies the warden. "These fellas have been in this block so long that they know each other's jokes. So now when someone wants to tell a joke he simply shouts out the number. Everyone remembers the joke and laughs."

"Quite a good idea really," remarks the reporter, as the number thirty-seven is called out and followed by peals of laughter.

Then there is a loud, "Seventeen!" and then silence. Puzzled by the lack of response, the reporter asks the warden what went wrong.

"Ah, that was Jakowsky in cell eight," sighs the warden, "he told it wrong again!"

An American, a German and a Polack were going on safari. They split up in the morning and met again in the evening. Sitting around the camp fire they started telling of their adventures.

The German says, "I shot two tigers, an elephant and some apes."

The American, says, "Ah, I shot much more: six crows, four tigers and about three elephants."

They both look at the Polack, who's saying nothing at all. "What about you, Polanski?"

they ask.

"I shot sixty-seven no-no's," he says.

Although the American and the German had quite a bit of experience in the jungle, they had never heard of such an animal. "What is a no-no?" they ask.

"Well," Polanski replies, "they are about six feet high, black, curly hair, big lips, and when you point your rifle at them they shout, `No! No!'" Anand Chinmaya, you need not be a philosopher, you need not be a Polack; just be a sannyasin! And to be a sannyasin means not to be bothered about questions and answers.

The whole process of sannyas is getting rid of the mind. Mind consists of questions and answers. The moment you get rid of the mind, then only consciousness is left in its purity, with not even a ripple. The lake is so silent, so unperturbed, so still, it starts reflecting the stars, the clouds, the moon, the trees, the flowers, the birds on the wing.

There is a Zen saying that the birds have no desire to be reflected in the lake, the lake has no desire to reflect the birds -- but it still happens. The birds are reflected, the lake reflects, although the desire exists neither on the part of the birds nor on the part of the lake. In this desirelessness everything happens, nothing is done.

A sannyasin has to relax to that total state of let-go when everything happens and nothing is done. Much happens, miracles happen, but don't ask me what to do. Ask me only one thing: "How to get out of the old rut of the mind?" And it consists of question and answers; it is a question-and-answer game.

Slip out of the mind like a snake slips out of the old skin. The mind is always old. It belongs to the past; it is not in the present, it has no future. Mind means the past, the dead. Mind is like a rearview mirror in the car. If you go on continuously looking in the rearview mirror, you are bound for a great disaster. The car has to go ahead, and you will be looking in the rearview mirror at the road that you have already passed, at the dust on the road that you have raised. That is not the way you are going, and you are not looking where you are going. Disaster is absolutely certain.

And this is happening in everybody's life. You go on reading the VEDAS -- that is looking in the rearview mirror. Five thousand years have passed, and still you go on looking at the VEDAS, you go on reading THE BIBLE, you go on reciting the KORAN, you go on discussing Kanad, Kapil, Aristotle, Plato, Confucius, Ma Tzu...but all this is sheer wastage of time.

Look at the present.

This very moment God is within you and without you.

And if you can live this God in total serenity, in total attunement, at-onement, you would know the ecstasy that I am talking about, the bliss, the benediction.

The second question:

Question 2:

Svatantra Sarjano, in fact, I myself, Jesus, Buddha, Lao Tzu, Nanak and Ramana may not have been Italians at all; hence still the attraction. I love the Italians -- that is proof enough I have never been an Italian before! But Krishnamurti? -- it is absolutely certain that he has been an Italian, and not only in one life but many lives; otherwise, how can he be so sane and sober? The Italians have done so much damage to him, he has not been able to recover yet -- he is still under the impact. He is so much afraid of laughing in case somebody may discover that he has been an Italian! His seriousness is just the other extreme.

I can understand, Sarjano, your question, because Krishnamurti is deadly serious about things; that is one of his flaws. A really totally enlightened person cannot be so serious.

Seriousness is a disease of the mind. When the mind is no longer there, seriousness has no ground to stand upon. But Indians have respected seriousness very much; it is a long tradition. And Krishnamurti has been brought up by very serious people, the Theosophists.

That whole bunch of Theosophists was very determined to show the world that they are the only spiritual people. Their whole investment was in proving to the world that they had come to redeem the world of all its problems, illnesses, diseases. They were bound to be serious. When you are a savior you cannot joke around; you have to destroy your sense of humor absolutely. You have to be continuously concerned about the misery and the suffering that people are passing through. And when people are passing through so much suffering, how can you laugh? how can you enjoy? how can you even smile? That will be cruel.

The Theosophists had this idea -- a very ancient idea that has clouded many people's beings -- that they wanted to redeem the whole world. In fact, it is nobody's business to redeem the whole world -- and who has the right to redeem anybody else? If the other person is enjoying his dream, you have no right to wake him up. At least his permission is needed, at least you have to ask him. Unless he wishes, you have to keep off. It is interference -- maybe for his own good, but who are you to decide? If somebody chooses hell, then it is his freedom to choose it. You can feel compassion for him, you would have liked him not to choose hell, but what can you do? Who are you?

But these saviors of humanity are bound to be serious people; they are bent upon it.

Whether you want it or not, they will force you into paradise! They will not leave you alone. And the Theosophists were preparing for a great event: to declare a world teacher.

They had chosen Krishnamurti to be the messiah. Of course they conditioned him in every possible way: they regimented him, disciplined him for so long that the traces of it have not left him yet; the wounds are still there. For twenty-five years continuously he was in this wrong company.

Sarjano, look into the training of J. Krishnamurti, and it will help you to understand why he is so serious. He was never allowed to mix with ordinary children -- to play with them, to laugh, to giggle, to climb the trees, to swim the rivers, to fight, to be beaten. He was never allowed to do anything that every child has a right to do. His childhood was completely crushed. He was only nine years of age when he was taken away from his parents. His mother had died, and his father was a poor clerk, so poor, and he was not economically in a situation to educate his children. He had two children, two boys, Nityananda and Krishnamurti.

Seeing that the Theosophists were interested in the children he was thrilled -- a great opportunity was opening up. They would not only teach him in ordinary schools, they were promising that they would educate him at Oxford, and in some very special schools meant only for royalty. They would take him around the world, they would arrange for private tutors, the best possible. What more could the poor father have desired and dreamt of? He willingly gave the children to the Theosophists.

And then a long struggle began between Krishnamurti's father and the Theosophists, because when the father became aware of what they were doing to his children, he was aghast. He could not believe it, that they were being forced like slaves.... They had to get up at three o'clock in the morning and read the scriptures -- Tibetan, Chinese, Japanese, Sanskrit. And they were almost asleep, repeating them in their sleep. Even in sleep they were not allowed to have a normal sleep; they would be sleeping, and the man who was in charge, Leadbeater, would go on repeating sutras and scriptures softly in their ears.

That was the first experiment in teaching children through hypnosis. Now it is a recognized scientific method, and particularly in Russia where hypno-teaching is becoming very common. Children can be taught with no need even for somebody to sit by their bed. Earphones can be put on, and the tape recorder can go on repeating silently, very whisperlike, so their sleep is not disturbed but still the message can go on penetrating to their unconscious. Even in their sleep they were not allowed the freedom to dream. Even their dreams were controlled.

You will be surprised to know that dreams can be controlled -- your dreams can be managed by others. For example, when you are falling asleep, a certain program can be given to you for the whole night so that these will be your dreams. And those dreams can be manipulated from the outside also. For example, when you are falling asleep, there comes a moment, an interval, when you are not awake and you are not yet asleep either -- just in between, that boundary line. That boundary line is the most sensitive part of your existence because you are changing the gears from one gear to another gear. Before you change gears you have to pass through the neutral gear, and when you are in a neutral gear anything can be put into your head. That's the whole secret of hypnosis: the neutral gear. That is the time when you are absolutely vulnerable; you cannot defend, you cannot argue.

So Leadbeater, Annie Besant and others would be sitting around when Krishnamurti was falling asleep, waiting for the moment, for indications. And there are very simple methods to know whether the child is in the interval or not. For example, the child can be told, "Go on looking at the roof continuously without blinking your eyes." A moment comes when the eyes become glassy; they are seeing and yet not seeing. That is the time when the neutral gear has come into existence. Wakefulness has gone, sleep has yet to come. It is the evening time; the day is no more, the night is entering. It is the most vulnerable, the most sensitive time. Say anything and it will go directly to the heart of the child. It will condition the child the deepest.

So they were conditioning the child, even managing his dreams, telling him, "You will be dreaming of a great desert. For miles and miles there is nobody -- sand and sand and sand, and you go on and on...." And you can help the dream from the outside too. You have put the seed inside; then just a little heat near the feet and the child will start dreaming of the desert, because the heat near the feet will give him the feeling of walking on hot sand. A little heat near the head and he will feel he is under the hot sun, and you have triggered.... You have done both the things: you have put the idea in the unconscious, and you have triggered the process from the body. The child is bound to dream about the desert, and of course he will follow the program that you have given.

This way Krishnamurti was conditioned while awake, while asleep. He was moved from one country to another country. He was never allowed to become friendly with anybody; he had no friends. How can he know what laughter is? He was never allowed to fall in love with a woman, with a girl -- how can he know what laughter is?

And the people he was with were really a strange group of people. This Leadbeater was a homosexual; he was not interested in women and hence he was very much against women. And he was found in very suspicious postures with Krishnamurti -- a small child.

When the father became aware of what was going on, he went to the courts. The case went on for years in the high court of Madras. The father proved in every way that Leadbeater was a homosexual. He produced witnesses who had seen him doing wrong things with his children. But then Leadbeater escaped from India, and before the court could decide that the children should be returned to the father, Annie Besant escaped with the children out of India, and the father could never get the children back.

Nityananda, the elder brother, died because of all the work that was being imposed upon them. When he was suffering from delirium, they thought that he was being influenced by great spiritual masters -- Kuthumi, et cetera -- that he was being transformed by the spiritual hierarchy. And that is all bullshit! There is no spiritual hierarchy, nothing.

Even Gunakar has started writing about spiritual hierarchy. He has issued letters and messages to all the U.N. members, and they must think that I am behind it, because my name, my picture is on his letterhead. And Gunakar goes on suggesting to them that there is a spiritual hierarchy working in the world. First he used to call me "Master," now he calls me "Elder Brother." Sooner or later I am waiting for him to write, "Dear Younger Brother." He is rising higher in the hierarchy! Now I am just an elder brother. It will not be a surprise if one day he writes, "My dear son."

Leadbeater was the most cunning of the people who were trying to manipulate these small children in the name of some hierarchy. He was writing books in the name of Krishnamurti. He has written a book THE PAST LIVES OF ALKAYONI. Alkayoni is the fictitious name for the many many lives of Krishnamurti. Because in each life there was a different name, Alkayoni is the fictitious name for all these lives, thousands of lives. Leadbeater wrote these books and they were all signed by Krishnamurti. And now Krishnamurti says, "I don't remember at all when I wrote these books, when I even signed. I know nothing about them." They were all written by Leadbeater.

In fact, a child of ten or twelve years cannot have written those books; he cannot have any such stupid ideas -- no child can be so stupid. And all this spiritual jargon.... And then, finally, Leadbeater and his colleagues started writing a very famous book which became a world-famous spiritual treatise: AT THE FEET OF THE MASTER. That too was published in the name of Krishnamurti, and Krishnamurti simply says he knows nothing about it.

These twenty-five years of all kinds of unnecessary torture, no ordinary life available....

He was not allowed to walk in the gardens where other people were. He was not allowed to meet and mix with people, because he was "the world teacher" -- how could he mix with ordinary human beings? Naturally he has lost all sense of humor. It is sad -- and all because of that idea of the world teacher. He renounced the idea finally, and that is the only good thing that he has ever done in his life. He renounced the idea that "I am a world teacher," but that renunciation was only superficial; it never came through his innermost core. Deep down he continues to be the world teacher still. That's why he becomes very angry if you don't listen to him; he even starts hitting his own head. Even talking to people, if they don't understand him and the way he talks -- it is so monotonous, it is so boring, that unless somebody is doing some research on boredom, nobody can be interested, people cannot understand -- then he starts beating his head, shouting, becomes enraged. But the whole idea deep down is to redeem the world.

If you don't understand me it doesn't matter, it is your freedom. It is my freedom to talk; it is your freedom to understand or not to understand or to misunderstand. How can I decide for you? I cannot be enraged. Even if you all fall asleep I cannot be enraged. I will have a good laugh! Even the idea of giving so many people a good morning sleep is such a consolation that one is doing some service to people!

You say, Sarjano: "...but Krishnamurti? My God! How can you honestly assert that someone so sane and sober as Krishnamurti has ever been an Italian?"

For me to assert anything honestly or dishonestly makes no difference. Whatsoever is right at the moment, honest or dishonest, right or wrong, true or untrue.... I believe in Gautam Buddha's definition of truth: that which works. If honesty works, perfectly okay.

I am a nonserious person; these are also serious things. Honest? -- why should I be honest? Things should be taken playfully. What is wrong in being dishonest once in a while, just for a change?

And you say, "...so sane and sober...." If a man is one hundred percent sane, then he is insane. Something of insanity is a basic ingredient of real sanity.

Zorba the Greek says to his boss, "Boss, everything is right in you, only one thing is missing -- a little touch of madness."

A man without a little madness is flat -- flat like a flat tire! A little bit of madness brings some spice to your life -- some color, some intensity, some passion, some dance, some celebration.

Krishnamurti, even if he enters paradise, will remain sane and serious. I don't think he will be welcome there. He will start talking about the same things he has been talking about on the earth for sixty years, and he will beat his head because even the angels are not going to listen to him! Angels don't listen to spiritual discourses. Their whole work is playing their harps, sitting on the clouds and shouting "Alleluia!" They will fit with me perfectly, but can you imagine angels playing "Alleluia!" on their harps and dancing around Krishnamurti? He will commit suicide: All this "Alleluia!" and the whole world has to be redeemed! Everybody is suffering, and these fools.... But I can enjoy! I may even start learning how to play on the harp. I have tried a little bit, just in order to be ready at least, so I am not an absolute outsider there!

But if he is so sane and sober, it must be the spaghetti that has gone to his head! Too much spaghetti in the head makes people very sane and sober.

And you say to me, "We hope you apologize."

I have never done that, and I am never going to do it -- that is not my way. I never repent, I never apologize -- for what? I am doing my thing. If somebody feels angry he can do whatsoever he wants to do. He can shout at me, he can condemn me; there is no problem for me at all. In fact, I enjoy all this. Whenever people become interested -- this is a kind of interest, if somebody is offended -- I rejoice. A connection has been made -- not a very good connection, but a connection is a connection anyway! If it is bad today, tomorrow it can be good.

Mrs. Carbotti went to the doctor complaining of fatigue. After the examination, the doctor decided she needed a rest.

"Can you stop having relations with your husband for about three weeks?" he asked.

"Sure," she replied, "I got two boyfriends who can take care of me for that long!"

That's why I like the Italians -- they are so human, so truly human!

Giovanni said to his daughter, "I no like-a that Irish boy taking you out-a. He is-a rough and common, and besides-a, he is-a a big-a dumbell!"

"No, papa," replied the girl, "Tim is the most clever fella I know."

"Why-a you say-a that?"

"We have only been dating nine weeks and already he has cured me of that little illness I used to get every month!"

A vet goes to Giuseppe's farm to artificially inseminate his cows. While there, he gets an urgent call to another farm. He decides to give Giuseppe the syringe and explain how to do it, then rushes off.

A little while later the local parish priest doing his rounds knocks on the farmer's door.

Pierino opens the door and the priest asks where his father is.

"He is-a down at-a the cow-shed," replies the little boy, "but it is-a better not-a to go there. It is-a the third-a time that he tries to inseminate the cow and he is-a swearing like hell-a!"

"What, what...what are you saying?" says the priest. "Ah, my God! And does your mother know what he is doing?"

"Of course-a," replies Pierino. "She is-a the one-a who keeps-a the cow's fanny open and shouts, `Come on-a, Giuseppe, this is-a time you will-a make it!'" Now these beautiful Italians...who cares about enlightenment?

A teacher was getting acquainted with her fourth-grade pupils by letting them get up and talk about the best thing they did during the summer holidays.

"And you, Johnny?" asked the teacher.

"Well, I played with my train set," reported Johnny.

"What about you, Gloria?"

"Ah, we took a wonderful trip to the mountains for the whole summer," said Gloria.

"And you, Liza?" asked the teacher of Little Black Liza.

"I like to fuck!" reported Liza.

"Ah, Liza, what a terrible thing to say! I want you to go home and not return until you have a note from your mother, informing me that she is aware of what you have said!"

demanded the teacher.

Two days passed before Liza finally returns to class.

"Do you have that note I asked you to bring, Liza?" asked the teacher.

"No, teacher, I ain't got no note. I told Momma what I said, then I told Momma what you said, and Momma said that if somebody don't like to fuck they must be a cocksucker, and she don't want to correspond with your kind!"

The third question:

Question 3:

Gandharva, the Murphy sutras are really beautiful!

The first sutra: If wives were good, God would have one.

Second: Some people are born silly, some people acquire silliness, and some fall in love.

Third: After man came woman, and she has been after him ever since.

Fourth: Be thrifty when you are young, and when you are old you will be able to afford the things that only the young can enjoy.

Fifth: Never miss an opportunity to make others happy, even if you have to leave them alone.

Sixth: Heredity is something people believe in if they have bright children.

Seventh: When in Rome, do as the Romans do -- eat spaghetti.

Eighth: Some men have no solution for any difficulty, but will find a difficulty for any solution.

If you don't believe in this eighth sutra you can ask Asheesh. He is the perfect personification of this sutra! He has no solution for any difficulty, but you give him any solution and he will find the difficulty!

Ninth: There is no time like the present for postponing what you don't want to do.

Tenth: Teamwork is essential -- it allows you to blame someone else.

Eleventh: You can make it foolproof, but you can't make it damn foolproof.

Twelfth: The height of futility is to tell a hair-raising story to a bald man.

Thirteenth: What is dumber than a dumb Italian? A dumb Indian.

Fourteenth: Adam was the happiest man on earth. Eve's mother never told her that nice girls did not do it that way.

Fifteenth: You can't get there from here, and besides there is no place else to go.

And a few anecdotes about Murphy....

The first: "I am getting more and more absent minded," said Murphy to a few of his cronies. "Sometimes in the middle of a sentence I...."

"That fellow Bobo is so rude: this morning he was snoring in church!"

"Yes, I know," said Murphy. "He woke me up!"

Murphy had recently become the father of triplets, and the priest stopped him on the street to congratulate him.

"Well, Murphy," he said, "so the stork smiled on you."

"Smiled on me!" exclaimed Murphy. "He laughed out loud!"

One friend met Murphy at the station. "Where are you going?" the friend asked.

"To Paris, for my honeymoon," said Murphy.

"Without your wife?"

"Listen, when you go to Munich, do you take beer with you?"

One Sunday morning the preacher was ill and could not come to the church to perform his duties, so Murphy was doing his work. He was urging his congregation to sing.

"Now is the opportunity for all of you gifted with wonderful voices to show your gratitude towards the Lord. And for all of you without good voices, this is the time to get even with him!"

Murphy came home an hour earlier than usual and found his wife stark naked in bed.

When he asked why, she explained, "I am protesting because I don't have anything to wear."

Murphy pulled open the closet door. "That's ridiculous," he said, "Look in here. There is a yellow dress, a red dress, a print dress, a pant suit...Hi Chris!...a green dress...."

And the last: The son was sitting at the bedside of the elderly gentleman, Murphy, who was dying. "Where do you want to be buried," the kid asked, "in Forest Lawn or Hillside Memorial Park?"

The old man creaked up on his elbow and answered, "Surprise me!"

Enough for today.