Even today those thirty-two schools go on quarreling. For twenty-five centuries they have not been able to be reconciled with each other. In fact, they have gone farther and farther away from each other. Now they have become independent philosophies, proposing that “That is what Gautam Buddha has said and everybody else is wrong. This is the holy scripture. Others are just collections by people who don’t understand.”
It is one of the great problems that you have raised: “What is the language of enlightenment?” The being of the enlightened person is his language. To be in contact with him, to drop all defenses, to open all the doors of your heart, to allow his love to reach to you, to allow his vibe to become your vibe….
Slowly, slowly, if one is ready, unafraid, then the heart of the disciple starts dancing in the same tune as the master. Something is being transpired which nobody can see. Something has happened; something which has not been said has been heard. Something which is not possible to be brought into words, has been conveyed through silence – just through looking into your eyes, or just holding your hand, or just sitting by your side in silence.
But language as such…there is none.
Grandpa Hymie Goldberg went to see his doctor. “What is the problem?” asked the physician.
“Well, doc,” said Hymie, “it is like this: after the first I am very tired; after the second I feel all ill; after the third my heart begins to pound; after the fourth I break out in a cold sweat; after the fifth I am so exhausted I feel I could die.”
“Incredible,” said the doctor. “How old are you?”
“Seventy-six,” replied Grandpa Hymie.
“Well, at seventy-six don’t you think you should stop after the first?” said the physician.
“But doctor,” said old Hymie, “how can I stop after the first floor, when I live on the fifth?”
Language is not much, even in ordinary life. Rather than giving understanding to each other, it gives many misunderstandings.
Two robbers broke into a bank in a small town. “All right,” said the bigger man, “line up! We are gonna rob all the men and rape all the women.”
“Wait a second,” snapped his partner. “Let’s just grab the money and beat it.”
“Shut up, and mind your own business,” said a little old lady from the back. “The big fellow knows what he is doing.”
Language is a very fragile instrument, but it works as far as ordinary life is concerned. It is utilitarian, but the moment you start moving towards the non-utilitarian existence, language starts failing you. For example, in poetry language is not so clear as in prose. Prose is simple to understand. Poetry needs interpretation, and interpretations can be many.