The Smile That Liberates. The Humor That Is Compassion

 

Today, forgiveness is on everyone’s lips.
But rarely is it found in the heart.

To forgive once a year—out of guilt or ritual—is like bathing only on Maundy Thursday and calling yourself clean.
True forgiveness isn't about performance. It’s about release.

And that kind of release—real, lived forgiveness—takes spaciousness, tenderness, sometimes even grace.
And not everyone is ready for it.

So what if you can’t forgive?
What if the wound still stings?
What if you're tired of trying to be the “bigger person”?

Then I offer you a different path: Laugh.

Not in cruelty. Not as mockery. But as clarity.
Laugh at the madness.
At those who hurt you.
At your own clinging.
At the absurdity of this world that turns and turns, never making sense.

Let your laughter be the wind that clears the dust from your eyes.

In the aesthetics of Kashmir Shaivism, hāsya rasa—the flavor of laughter—has the unique power to dissolve [1].
It disarms the mind.
It punctures the ego.
It makes the "important" feel light, and the "tragic" feel strangely distant.

But be warned: Do not laugh at Love.
Even śṛṅgāra rasa—the sacred sentiment of beauty and intimacy—is destroyed by the wrong kind of laughter.
Just as honey melts in boiling water, Love cannot survive mockery.
Hold it like a flame cupped in your palms.

In all other athings — smile.
Smile as a form of rebellion.
Smile as surrender.
Smile because the game was never yours to win anyway.

Let the liberated swan of laughter rise, shaking the world with its roar of joy!

There is a saying in Telugu:  “If the poet cannot see, can the sun see then?”

A real poet—a true seer—sees not just with the eyes, but with the heart.
He laughs—not because he’s above the world, but because he has seen through it.

As Guruji Amritananda Natha Saraswati said:

“The poet is able to look at the good and the bad, and find the humor in the situation in a dispassionate way.
He does not decry or praise one thing or the other. He sees things as they are.”

The world is full of fear, sensation, and confusion.
And Ganesha, the lord of beginnings, places these obstacles before us—not to punish, but to initiate.
He invites us to understand their nature and… become humorous about it.
To laugh—not because we’ve given up, but because we’ve seen that clinging won't change the tides.

Guruji continues:

“When you find you cannot change the world because it is corrupt, you have to laugh it off…
Otherwise, you will be weighed down by worries and anxieties with your good intentions.
The humor is the last resort of compassion.”

Imagine: you’ve waited all day for a bus.
Each one arrives full.
The last bus comes—and you still don’t get in.

What do you do?

You start singing. And walk the twenty miles home.

That laughter, that song, that second wind—that’s grace.

And sometimes, as Eric Idle sang in Monty Python’s Life of Brian:

"Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle
And this'll help things turn out for the best...
And always look on the bright side of life."

Absurd, playful, and weirdly wise, the song captures the spirit of hāsya rasa. It laughs, not out of denial, but out of knowing. It smiles—not because life isn’t hard—but precisely because it is.

This is the highest laughter:

Not mockery, but liberation.

Not escape, but bhakti.

Not numbness, but a tender offering to the One who walks with you unseen.

Let this laughter live in you—not as a joke, but as a lightness of being.
Not to run from pain—but to rise through it.
And to remember: The One who laughs within you. Also cries with you. And walks every step unseen.

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[1]  In classical Indian aesthetics (rasa theory):

• Bharata Muni, the originator of the theory, described eight rasas (including hasya)—each equally valid and essential to human experience.

• Abhinavagupta, the great Shaiva philosopher, considered śānta rasa (serenity, detachment) —which he added to original 8 — to be the highest, reflecting the soul’s liberation.

• Rūpa Gosvāmī, in Bhakti-rasāmṛta-sindhu, uplifted śṛṅgāra rasa—especially madhura-rasa (divine romantic love)—as the supreme devotional experience.

Hāsya rasa is unique.
It isn’t highest by traditional standards—but it is powerful.
It liberates through disarming.
It acts as a bridge between detachment and grace, especially when animated by compassion.

[2] http://amritananda-natha-saraswati.blogspot.com/2016/04/uscp-prayer-to-lord-ganesha.html