22 Mar Once the emperor of Japan invited him to deliver a sermon in the palace… (OSHO)
Hakuin was a man of few words, a man of silence. For years he would not speak at all, and then he would speak a word or two.
Once the emperor of Japan invited him to deliver a sermon in the palace. And the queen and the king and the prime minister and the ministers and the high officials and the generals, they all had gathered with great respect to listen. Hakuin came, stood there for a single moment, looked around, and left the hall. The king was puzzled. He asked his prime minister, “What is the matter with this man? We had come to listen.”
The old prime minister said, “This is the greatest sermon that I have ever heard. He has said it! You had asked him to come and teach you about silence. He has taught it! He stood there in silence, he was silence. What more do you ask for? What more do you demand? He was pure silence, standing there for those few seconds. He was utter silence. He was silence, throbbing, pulsating. But you were looking to hear some words.”
About silence nothing can be said. And all that is said about silence will be wrong. How can you say anything about silence? To say something will be falsifying it. That’s why Lao Tzu says nothing can be said about Tao—and if something is said, in the very saying of it, it has become untrue. Tao is silent. But that silence is not the silence of a cemetery. It is the silence of a garden where trees are alive, breathing, and yet there is utter silence. It is not a dead silence, it is an alive silence.
The Lion’s Roar