One day, when Master Keizan got up in the hall to speak, a monk called Gazan came forward from the assembly and asked, “Why is it hard to speak of the place where not a breath enters?”
He is asking, “Why is it hard to enter into the space of your own, where not even your own breath can enter?” Your consciousness does not breathe. Its life is not dependent on breathing or on your heartbeat – it is life itself. It is not dependent on any causes. This is its freedom and its eternity.
The question was perfectly right, but such questions cannot be answered in the easy way.
Keizan said, “Even speaking of it does not say it…
…I can speak about it, but at the most I have to remind you that nothing can be said about it.”
It remains always beyond words. In a certain fundamental sense, the moment the word leaves your lips, the meaning is left behind. On your ears fall words which have forgotten to carry the significance. They are empty envelopes; of course addressed to you, but inside there is nothing.
Keizan said, “Even speaking of it does not say it.” Gazan had a flash of insight, but as he was about to open his mouth, Keizan said, “Wrong!”
The master can see that the disciple has touched the inner space, because it is such a revolution in being that you cannot keep it hidden – it radiates. But out of old habit, Gazan was going to say something, and the master shouted at him, “Wrong! Whatever you say, it won’t do. You have it, but don’t say it. You are fortunate that you got it, but don’t allow it to be distorted. And you are too fresh, too young in the inner world. Just let things settle.”
Scolded, Gazan withdrew. After this, his spirit of determination soared far beyond that of ordinary people.
He had seen a glimpse, and he had also seen that the master did not want him to say a single word unless the whole truth had penetrated his being, unless he was soaked with it like a rain cloud, and was ready to shower. Before that: keep quiet, don’t be in a hurry.
He started meditating, silently sitting, waiting for the moment when the small glimpse becomes the great matter of realization.
One night, as Keizan was enjoying the moon along with Gazan, he said, “Do you know that there are two moons?”
Gazan said, “No.”