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but your laughter is shallow. It is at the most on the lips, or if it goes very deep it goes to the throat. It does not come from the heart, it does not come from your guts, it does not come from your core. It is just there. superficial, painted. It is shallow.
Only Jesus can laugh. And when Jesus laughs he is laughter -- not that he laughs. When you laugh you laugh. When Jesus laughs he is laughter. When you dance you dance. When Jesus dances he is dance. When you love YOU love. When I love I am simply love. I don't exist apart from it, otherwise there will be a division, split. When you laugh you are standing aloof and laughing -- laughing is an act, your total being is not involved in it.
And Christians say a very foolish thing, that Jesus never laughed. Why do they say it? Out of their miseries, out of their anguish, out of their meaninglessness, they have depicted Jesus sad, gloomy, serious, grave. And because of this your churches have become graveyards; the joy of life no more exists there. And because of this your scriptures have become like you find in museums -- a snake in alcohol. It will live long. But a snake on the grass alive in the sun, on the rock, resting in the afternoon, taking a nap, a snake moving up on a tree or swinging with the branches of a tree, a snake ALICE. And a snake in the museum, in the hospital, in the science lab, in alcohol. The alcohol snake, or call it the alcoholic snake, will live long, because it is dead.
The real snake, the alive snake, will not live long, because it is alive -- death will be coming. But for the alcoholic snake there is no death.
Jesus died. He was a flower -- bloomed in the morning, by the evening gone. But the Christ invented by the Christians, lives. It is an alcoholic snake, bottled, a museum-piece. It can live for ever and for ever. Your scriptures are dead; they are like butterflies pinned. You can collect butterflies and go on pinning them -- they look like butterflies, they are not. Because what is a butterfly if it cannot have freedom, if it is not alive, if it is not roaming from one flower to another, if it is not a vagabond on the wings -- what is it? It is nothing.
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