But Yeats stood up and said, “Everything is perfectly right except that in four places something is wrong.”
Those were exactly the four words that were suggested by C.F. Andrews.
Rabindranath said, “I am puzzled, surprised, I cannot believe it. These are the words suggested by C.F. Andrews. They are more grammatical. My own originals were these….”
Yeats said, “Your original words are right. Although they are not grammatical they have poetry in them, a flow. These words suggested by Andrews are grammatically right” – Andrews had the mind of a schoolmaster – “but they are like rocks in the path of a stream; they don’t help the flow. You be ungrammatical, because poetry can afford to be nongrammatical, but poetry cannot afford not to be flowing. The flow has to be maintained; the greater the flow, the better the poetry.”
Even in the ordinary world, from one language to another language, it is such a problem….
“Name?” queried the immigration official.
“Sneeze,” replied the Chinese proudly.
The official looked at him: “Is that your Chinese name?” he asked. “Sneeze?”
“No, Amelican name.”
“Then, let us have your native name.”
Now “Ah Choo” becomes “Sneeze”….
In ordinary languages, too, translation is a very difficult phenomenon, one of the most difficult arts; and the greater the poetry, the more difficult it is. The greatest poetry remains untranslated.
But to talk about enlightenment is impossible, for so many reasons: no content which can be talked about; nobody as an ego to feel, to say, to describe. The object disappears, and with the object the subject disappears, remember, because they are part of a duality – object and subject – they are together. If there is no object, the subject disappears immediately. That’s why Buddha says it is a state of anatta, a state of no ego, of no I. No content, no watcher…then what is left? The whole is left, the total is left! But that total can only be pointed at, not described, not defined.
And my whole effort here is to help you towards that existential state. But don’t ask how it feels. There is nobody to feel it, there is nothing to feel it; there is nothing to be felt either. An absolute silence…and a silence which is not in contrast to sound. A pure love, but a love that knows nothing of hate. Fullness, but a fullness which is utterly empty. That’s how words become useless, and mystics’ statements look very paradoxical.