Lao Tzu simply said, “Do you think I have not thought about it? I have been crying and weeping; I have shed tears in the darkness of the night when nobody could see that I was crying and weeping, because I know it. But simultaneously I also know that the moment I say anything about it, it will be a betrayal. It cannot be confined in words; no explanation is possible for this experience. So please just excuse me, I am utterly helpless. When I look at people I feel to say something, but when I go in and look at my own being, the luminosity of it, I see my utter helplessness – how am I going to pour this luminosity into words? This living truth cannot be forced into dead words, and I am not going to commit this crime.”
His whole life he remained silent.
A few disciples still followed him, came close to him. Although he had not spoken, they heard it. This is the mystery – they heard it like a silent music, they heard it like a fragrance arising, they heard it in the beauty and the depth of the eyes of Lao Tzu. But this was possible only for very few people.
Those who can understand without words don’t need any devices. You are not one of them. You will need words. You are not so innocent, so open, so available, that you can hear silence. That silence can become a sermon.
Yes, there are people for whom stones are sermons, they don’t need words. But those rare people have become less and less in the world. The world has become more and more knowledgeable. People have forgotten that there are other ways of communication; now they know only one way of communication and that is the words. And in the words, the truth cannot be expressed. Then the only possible way is to tell you lies which point towards the truth.
Slowly slowly, the moment you see the truth you will understand the compassion of the person who was ready even to lie for you. Lao Tzu was not so compassionate as I am. Lao Tzu was more concerned about the purity of truth; I am more concerned about the evolution of your being. Without your evolution, the truth will disappear from the world. But if you need a few devices I don’t hesitate at all. I am ready to tell you anything that can help to bring you even a single step closer.
At the last, when Lao Tzu was going to leave China and go into the Himalayas to die there, the emperor gave orders all over the country that wherever he crosses the boundaries he should be caught, and forced – unless he writes his experience he cannot be allowed to go out of the country.
He was caught. The man who caught him had always loved him. With tears in his eyes, he said, “I have to follow the orders. This is my cottage; for miles there is no other house. This is the boundary – I will not let you go. You can rest in my cottage and write down your experience.”
Lao Tzu had to write it down. In three days he completed his only book – just a small book, only a few pages. The first sentence is: “The truth cannot be said; the moment you say it, it becomes a lie. So reading my book, please remember it. I am writing it under compulsion. I will try my best, but even then it remains only a beautiful lie.” He was completely unaware that in the hands of an articulate master even lies can become stepping stones.
He was a mystic, but not a master. He had come to know, but he was unable to lead others to know it.