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Jiddu Krishnamurti Jokes (Jokes told by J. Krishnamurti)

A Catholic is standing on a mountain and looks down into the beauty of the valley. Suddenly he slips and falls down the cliff and is barely able to hold on to the branch of a tree that is growing there. Below him is an abyss of a thousand feet. He doesn’t know what to do, so he prays, ‘Please, Lord, help me. Save me from death.’ And a voice comes out of the sky and says, ‘Have faith, let go! And the man looks up and calls out, ‘Is there anybody else up there?”
A young man wanting to find truth goes to see a famous guru. 'Master, can you teach me meditation and truth?' he asks. The guru agrees, and the disciple immediately assumes the lotus posture, closing his eyes and breathing rhythmically to show what he knows. The master doesn't say anything but picks up two stones from the ground and starts rubbing them against each other. Hearing the strange noise, the disciple opens his eyes and asks, 'Master, what are you doing?'
The guru answers 'I'am rubbing these stones against each other to polish them into a mirror so I can look at myself.' 'The disciple laughs, 'but master, if you don't mind my telling you: you'll never be able to make a mirror of these stones by rubbing them against each other. You can do that forever, and it won't work.' 'Similarly, my friend,' the master says, 'you can sit like that forever, but you'll never be meditating or understanding truth.'
“There are three monks, who had been sitting in deep meditation for many years amidst the Himalayan snow peaks, never speaking a word, in utter silence. One morning, one of the three suddenly speaks up and says, ‘What a lovely morning this is.’ And he falls silent again. Five years of silence pass, when all at once the second monk speaks up and says, ‘But we could do with some rain.’ There is silence among them for another five years, when suddenly the third monk says, ‘Why can’t you two stop chattering?”
We were silent for a while, then Krishnamurti spoke up, “That reminds me of a good joke I heard the other day. The Pope dies and goes up to the Pearly Gates where he meets St. Peter. He says to him, ‘You must be St. Peter.’ St. Peter answers, ‘And who are you?’ The pope is taken aback, ‘You don’t recognize me? I’m the Pope.’ St. Peter picks up his list and goes over the names, ‘Pope, Pope—I’m sorry, there is nobody here by that name. I’m sorry, but you can’t enter heaven.’

The Pope is shocked. ‘There must be some mistake. It’s impossible—I must be on that list. Please, look again: I’m the Pope!’ St. Peter gets impatient and tells him to buzz off. By now the Pope is in tears and begs him, ‘Please, St. Peter, I’m your successor and the representative of Jesus on earth. I’m the head of the Holy Roman Church. I have a right to enter heaven.’ St. Peter is getting annoyed and says, I’ve never heard of anything so foolish. If you don’t immediately buzz off, I’ll call the angels with the flaming swords.’ The Pope is in utter despair. ‘No, please don’t, I beg of you. Can’t you ask somebody, who knows me? Maybe Jesus or one of the saints will vouch for me.’

St. Peter gives in and says to the chap, ‘All right, I’ll go and ask inside. You stay here. And don’t touch anything.’ So he goes inside, and there are Jesus, his mother Mary, the apostles and several angels and saints. ‘Excuse me, Lord,’ says St. Peter, ‘there is a chap by the name of Pope wanting to enter heaven. He claims to have been your representative on earth.’ Jesus laughs, ‘My representative on earth? That’s absurd, isn’t it? And I’ve never heard of anyone named Pope?’ No one seems to know the Pope, until suddenly the Virgin Mary speaks up, ‘Wait a minute. Pope—isn’t he the one who spread all the rumors about me and the Holy Ghost?’”
“This happens to be the time when Nixon was still President,” he explained with a smile. “Brezhnev calls Nixon over the hotline telephone and says, ‘Hello, Mr. President, how are you? I’ve heard that you have the most incredible super-computer in the whole world.’ Nixon replies, ‘Well, Mr. Chairman, I don’t know how you obtained this information, because it’s top secret. But I can tell you that it’s the fastest computer in the world and can foretell events up to thirty years ahead.’ Brezhnev is impressed. ‘Thirty year: that is truly astonishing. Not even here in the Soviet Union do we have anything like that.

In fact, I would like to ask you a favor, if you don’t mind.’ Nixon answers, ‘Anything you like, in the name of détente, as long as it isn’t a state secret or against the interests of the United States.’ Brezhnev replies, ‘I wouldn’t dream of anything like that. But could you please ask your computer who will be in the Communist Party politburo here in the year 2000?’

The President answers, ‘No problem, Leonid. Just give me a minute.’ And the telephone line goes silent while he is consulting the computer. Brezhnev presses his ear to the reciever but hears only Moscow static as the minutes tick by. Finally he asks, ‘Are you still there, Richard?’ (They’re on first name terms by now.) ‘Well, yes, Leonid,’ Nixon replies, ‘but I can’t figure it out.’ ‘But what does it say?’ Brezhnev asks impatiently. And Nixon says, ‘That’s just it. I can’t read and what is says—it’s all in Chinese.’”
“Two friends, one of them a bishop, die in a car crash. They go up to heaven and meet St. Peter. Neither of them has sinned too much, so he lets them in. And he says to them, ‘If you have any special request, tell me now, and I’ll see to it that it gets done.’ The bishop, a religious person, asks to see God. St Peter is startled by his request and tries to dissuade him, ‘Seeing God is a sensitive affair—it’s very shocking. Few people can stand it. If I may advice you, please don’t insist on this.’ But the man is adamant and insists on his wish.

Finally St Peter gives in and tells him, ‘Very well, if you insist. Just don’t blame me afterwards. Go that way and follow the signs: ’God’. And don’t forget to come back here.’ Off he goes to see God, while his friend wait with St Peter for his return. It takes ten to fifteen minutes before he returns. He is a mere shadow of himself, as pale as a ghost, and staggering about in deep shock. His friend is concerned to see him in this state and says, ‘By Jove, what’s happened to you? What was He like?’ But the man can only moan, ‘She’s black.’”
" The other day I saw a cartoon in a magazine, " he recounted to the audience. "It's in New York City, at a busy intersection in Times Square. There are two dogs sitting by the curbside, watching the people hurrying by, always busy and in a rush. And one dog says to the other, 'you know, reincarnation gives me the creeps.' "
‘A man dies and goes to the Pearly Gates. St. Peter says to him, ‘You’ve lived a fairly good life, not cheated or sinned too much. But before entering heaven I must tell you that we’re all bored here. God never laughs, and the angels are quite moody, praying most of the time. So please hesitate before entering heaven. Perhaps, you’d like to go down and see what that’s like. Then come and tell me what you prefer. But it’s up to you. Just ring that bell over there. An elevator will come up and you just get into it and go down.’ So the chap rings the bell and goes down in the elevator.

The doors open and he is met by the most beautiful girl, who take care of him, et cetera, et cetera. '‘By Jove’, he thinks, ‘this is life.’ And he says to the girls, ‘May I just go and tell St. Peter?’ He rings the bell, get into the elevator and goes up. He says to St. Peter, ‘Sir, it’s very good of you to have offered me the choice, I prefer down below.’ St. Peter says, ‘I thought you would.’ The man rings the bell again and goes down. The doors open and two ugly fiends grab him and beat him up, pushing and kicking him. He moans, ‘Wait a minute. Just a little while ago you treated me like a king. And now this; why?’ ‘Ah, you were a tourist then.’”
“You may have heard this joke—about naming of the divine child in Bethlehem,” he began. “The child was in the manger, surrounded by oxen and sheep, while his mother, Mary, and Joseph were discussing what name to give him. Solomon was suggested, Moses and David, but they couldn’t agree. At the moment, the Magi, the three wise men from the East, entered the stable. Paying homage to the new-born child, they placed offerings of myrrh and frankincense before him. The third chap, who was very tall, knelt down to present his gift of gold. As he got up, he bumped his head on the low rafters of the stable and exclaimed in pain, ‘Jesus Christ!’ Mary turned to Joseph and said, ‘That’s nice name. That’s what we’ll call him.’”
God has just completed the creation of world, with its ocean and continents and all the creatures, including the humans. As he surveys his work, an angel points out that there is one small spot in the center of Europe that’s been left blank and empty. The Lord says, ‘I must have overlooked the spot. What shall we do with it?’ And the angel answers, ‘If I may suggest it, Lord why don’t you create a land of milk and honey, called Switzerland—with snow-peaked mountains, streams, forests and green meadows, where cows graze that produce the best milk in the world?’

The Lord replies, ‘That sounds good. And what about the humans there?’ And the angel suggests, ‘Why not make them clean, orderly, and hard-working, with the greatest respect for money?’ And the Lord says, ‘So be it.’ And so it was done. After some time the Lord wants to see what he has created and goes down to Earth. He walks among the mountains, enjoying the beauty of the scenery. After a while he comes to a small village, very clean and orderly. As the day is getting hotter, he feels a bit thirsty. So he walks up to one of the cafés with outdoor tables and chairs.

The owner immediately recognizes him and comes running, greeting him with great respect, ‘O Lord, please sit down. It’s an extraordinary honor that You visit our small town and my humble café. Is there anything, anything, that we can do for You?’ The Lord is pleased and says, ‘By Jove, I noticed your splendid cows grazing out there. Give me a tall glass of cold, fresh milk.’ ‘Immediately, O Lord.’ And the man trots off and returns with a tall glass of fresh, cold milk with foam on the top, and places in front of the Lord. He drinks it down with much enjoyment. He’s just getting up from the table when the owner comes running and, with a respectful bow, places a small plate with the strip of paper in front of him. The Lord looks at it and asks the man, ‘What is that?’ The owner bows again and explains, ‘With all due respect, O Lord, that is the bill.’
A young man leaves home to look for truth. He goes to a well-known guru who lives on the banks of the river. 'Please, sir,' he says to the old man, 'allow me to stay with you. I want to learn the truth from you.' And the guru agrees. And so he washes his clothes, cooks for him, and performs all kinds of tasks for the old teacher. After five years, he says to the master, 'I've spent five years with you but I still don't know the what the truth is and haven't learned a thing. So if you don't mind , I'll leave you. Perhaps I can find another teacher, from whom I can learn more about the truth.' 'I don't mind,' says the old man, 'go right ahead.'

So the young chap goes off and finds several other gurus, from whom he learns various magic tricks. After another five years have passed, he remembers his old teacher and goes to visit him. 'So what have you learned?' the old man asks him. And his former student tells him that he can walk on hot coals, levitate and so on. 'Is that all?' the guru asks. The young man points at the river in front of them and says proudly, 'And I can walk on the waters of that river to the opposite shore.' 'And it took you five years to learn that,' the old master exclaims, 'when over there, fifty yards from here, you can take the ferry boat across for two pence!'
The following story I was told in India. You may have heard of Birla, the industrialist. He’s from Calcutta, tremendously rich, and for many years his company has had a virtual monopoly on passenger cars build in India, with the ambassador. They are not well-made vehicles, not very comfortable, and they often break down. So Birla dies and goes to heaven. St Peter meets him at the Pearly Gates and asks, ‘Who are you, please?’ ‘I’m Birla,’ he replies, slightly annoyed at not being recognized. St. Peter goes through his list of names. ‘B-B-Birla. I’m sorry, your name is not on the list. I don’t think you can enter heaven.’ Birla protests angrily, ‘I’m Birla, the industrialist. I must be on that list. Look again. B-i-r-l-a.’

St. Peter is taken aback by the man’s arrogance and says, ‘I don’t know anybody by that name.’ ‘By Jove,’ Birla exclaim, ‘everybody knows me—everybody. And you’re trying to tell me…’ Peter says politely by firmly, ‘Please, sir, don’t get excited. That won’t help you up here. Your name is not on the list. I’ve never heard of you, and I’m afraid that you won’t be allowed into heaven.’ For a moment Birla is crushed and falls into a morose silence. St Peter feels pity on him and says, ‘But perhaps you can provide us with a good reason why we should let you in.’ Birla immediately perks up and says, ‘I have helped the cause of many religions by spending millions upon millions for the building of temples, mosques and churches.’ St Peter replies, ‘That’s quite natural, all rich people do that: they want to become famous and save paying taxes. But that hardly qualifies you to enter the heavenly paradise.’

By this time Birla is feeling frustrated and shouts, ‘Now look here, my dear chap, there is nobody in the whole of India, maybe in the whole world, who has done so much for his workers and their families, built hundereds of hospitals, homes for orphans and the aged, schools and universities. St Peter says, I’m not sure whether that counts either. After all, these people have given their energy, their labor, their lives, so that you could become rich. No, no—none of that matters in heaven. What we ask, which is the real question: what have you ever done for God?’ Birla frantically searches his memory and finally brightens up, saying with satisfaction, ‘Well, sir, for decades we have been manufacturing the famous Ambassador car. And, whenever somebody opens the door to get into their car, they exclaim, ‘O my God!’”