Beyond Words
Leland Shields, November 9, 2025
I’ll begin with the first part of verse 14 of the Taoteching, translated by Red Pine.
We look but don’t see it
and call it indistinct
we listen but don’t hear it
and call [it] faint
we reach but don’t grasp it
and call it ethereal
three failed means to knowledge
I weave into one …
Lao Tzu. Lao-tzu’s Taoteching: With Selected Commentaries from the Past 2,000 Years (p. 28). Copper Canyon Press. Kindle Edition.
There is an inherent challenge in a Zen talk for the writer, the presenter and the listener. The words are what’s most apparent in the talk. Yet the intent is always outside of the words, to see what is not being described; the intent is to see that which is lost because the description limits our focus.
Larry told me one time of his watching a short video that began with an instruction that he should count the number of times the players dressed in white pass a basketball. As the video played, three players in white and three in black interlaced in complex rotation, passing multiple basketballs at the same time. The video then asked how many passes were counted. As I recall, Larry felt pretty good about his attention on the passes. Then the video asked if the viewers saw the gorilla. Replaying the video – sure enough, someone in a gorilla suit walked right through the scene. The video exists as a demonstration of selective focus, and our tendency – for good reasons much of the time – to bias our recognition to what we know and what is familiar. What we tend to miss is the unexpected, the as-of-yet unknown, and that which does not (yet) have relevance for us. We can miss what is most alive and creative.
The trouble is that bringing intentionality to our seeing can lead us to double down on seeing what we already know. Like the old joke of the person who dropped their keys further down the street, but was looking around under the streetlight because the light was better there.
In zazen, we embrace the dark. To say it is indistinct is to miss the recognition of dark.
In Ross Bolleter’s book Dongshan’s Five Ranks, which is filled with words, he wrote that the dharma can’t be presented with words, but can be presented as words. With words, we live in a world of cause and effect, braking the car slows it down. The eagle seems to hang in the air as it rides the wind.
When trying to share perspectives here, we tend to use words that are broad and subtle, like “existential and phenomenal,” and, “conditional and absolute.” We can get lost in any words, definitions, distinctions, and categories. Lao-Tzu says we look, don’t see, and call it indistinct. We could also expand one of his writings and say we look, and by calling it indistinct, distinct, short, or loud, we fail in our attempts to define it, and miss it. We’ve failed three times to understand it by trying to see, hear, and grasp it.
Take the “it” in those last sentences broadly.
I’ve read that in the Japanese and Hawaiian languages there are scores of words for rain, no doubt arising from keen attention to nature. What do you think: can there be sufficient words to encapsulate the visceral experience of getting soaked and cold, running in loose shoes for shelter in a surprising storm?
Rain itself requires no plan and has no concern – each drop will reach the ground at the right time, though it may blow east, and may blow west on the Way. It’s easy to see how a raindrop can make its path without quarrelling with the wind. Sure, we do need to plan some of the time, and much of the time we don’t.
When standing in the rain, practice nothing and get wet. When commuting to work, practice nothing and pay the bus fare as you enter. Practicing nothing is not lax, and not another burden or thing to do. It’s not an obligation or responsibility. Drop the thought now in your mind, and the conclusion about what I’m saying. Don’t take me at my word, but take in the words, like photoreceptor cells at the back of our eyes effortlessly take light.
Names and categories of animals are unnecessary to an infant at the zoo, effortlessly transfixed by a crow hopping by. The infant doesn’t understand at all, and nothing is missing for crow and infant.
We try to understand with words – no problem there in many aspects of our life. Words are necessary in mutual and personal understanding for plans to meet for lunch (when and where), for wedding vows, and working out the cost to be paid for a box of light bulbs before walking out of the hardware store. There are settings where we refine our words in such ways, and even in those settings, the words are unable to express all that is there. But word refinement is not our concern in zazen, wherever we practice. Buddha did not parse to call Venus a star or planet when waking to the object of light on the horizon, on the morning of the eighth day under the Bodhi tree. S/he was not concerned about one who sees it, nor about the one seen. Just this.
Buddha did not distinguish gradual or sudden awakening – these distinctions are not helpful in seeing and hearing. Outside of time, release these words, all words, and release them again. Words fall away in their own time outside of our supervision – what need is there for forcefulness to get to where we already are? Relax and let light shine, and breath breathe. We can fall into breath, and into mu. And fall again.
When my friend Jeff and I were in the fifth grade, Jeff introduced me to neighbors, Henry, and his younger sister Nancy. I still remember being in the basement of my new friends’, and Nancy telling Henry, “I’m a mind reader that’s how I can read your mind.” With venom and a higher volume, Henry said, “You’re a mindless reader!” Without missing a beat, losing the smile on her face, or getting stuck, Nancy said, “I’m a mindless reader, that’s how I can read your mindless.” Even Henry laughed. Neither “mind” nor “mindless” were interruptions that day, and the four of us moved on without looking back.
In the practice of being, there is no “how,” because there is no need for “how.” There is a hand that shields the eyes in bright sun. There is voice in cadence with the mokugyo. There is mu rising with the morning alarm. In the practice of being, there is no going or getting there, and no drifting away or losing it. There is this, as it is, undeniable and incontestable.
I can’t help but once again bring in the story of our lay ancestor, Hotei. (Note to self: From previous talk – April 12, 2022.) Nyogen Senzaki and Paul Reps retold the story of Hotei, who carried a sack through town in T’ang dynasty China. He didn’t call himself a Zen master and spoke nothing of it when asked. In his sack were gifts which he gave to the children who he played with in the streets. As the story goes…
…Once as he was about his play-work another Zen master happened along and inquired: “What is the significance of Zen?”
Hotei immediately plopped his sack down on the ground in silent answer. “
Then,” asked the other, “what is the actualization of Zen?” At once the Happy Chinaman swung the sack over his shoulder and continued on his way.
Senzaki; Nyogen; Repps, Paul. Zen Flesh, Zen Bones: A Collection of Zen and Pre-Zen Writings (p. 20). Caramna Corporation. Kindle Edition.
This story has fifty-nine words, no Zen jargon, and needs no historical references. There is no talk of enlightenment or defilements. The miles and the years are irrelevant; all that is needed is right here, without distractions. Drop everything and live your life. Open eyes and walk.
After Hotei drops the bag, where is there to walk to? There is just walking. Who is there to play with? There is playing. Watching him walk away, who would know whether he’s still holding the bag or not?
What is the significance of Zen? Without a word, fingers release – your fingers, Hotei’s fingers –shoulders drop and breath breathes. What time is it? Without a word, fingers release, shoulders drop, breath breathes.
Take all I’m saying as you would the disruptive Caw-Caw of a crow hopping around you at the zoo. The thoughts in your own mind are the same crow. See and hear without the words “see,” and “hear.” No need to figure anything out, or to wait for the next period – release fingers, words, plans, and all that is abstract. There’s a schedule for zazen, teisho, and lunch, but no schedule for release – what better time for release? It’s too late, not because the chance was missed, but because it’s already done.
Returning to Taoteching verse 14 and continuing where we left off, Lao Tzu in his way expresses the Tao as words, not to confuse, but to evoke the formless form, the moon that waxes and wanes that we don’t deny when it is dark.
with no light above
and no shadow below
too fine to be named
returning to nothing
this is the formless form
the immaterial image
the one that waxes and wanes
we meet without seeing its face
we follow without seeing its back
whoever upholds this very Way
can rule this very realm
and discover the ancient maiden
this is the thread of the Way
Lao Tzu. Lao-tzu’s Taoteching: With Selected Commentaries from the Past 2,000 Years (p. 28). Copper Canyon Press. Kindle Edition.
The thread of the Way is always about, as the scent of baking and as the hard-to-find grit hiding in a shoe. We discover it not by investigation of mystery, but embracing the mysterious without definition or categorization – we’re in the dark, and the dark is all around.
There is an old Jewish joke in which a priest and rabbi are to meet for a debate about the Jews being forced to leave the town. Neither speaks the language of the other, so the priest begins by holding up three fingers. The rabbi raises one finger emphatically and waves it. The priest lifts one finger and waves a circle above his head. The rabbi points at the ground. The priest takes out the bread and wine of the sacrament. The rabbi takes out an apple.
Abruptly, the priest walks out and tells his people he did not best the rabbi in the debate, and the rabbi had responses for all he offered. The priest explained that he lifted three fingers indicating the Trinity and the rabbi lifted one, for the one God. The priest gestured in a circle to indicate God is everywhere, and the rabbi pointed to the ground – God is right here. The priest took out the bread and wine of the sacrament, and the rabbi took out an apple, referring to original sin. The rabbi went to his people, and they also asked what happened. He said, “I don’t know!” The rabbi said the priest lifted three fingers to tell him they had three days and then must leave. He lifted one finger and shook it, saying, “no.” The priest gestured in a circle to say get out of anywhere around here; the rabbi pointed down – we’re staying. The rabbi then said the priest took out his lunch, and the rabbi did the same.
Without words, the priest and rabbi had no trouble in fully misunderstanding each other with gestures and symbols. No matter your beliefs, as humans we all misunderstand. Because of this humanity, Venus, car horns, jet engines and fears all reveal the fact.
In ending today, I’ll read from the end of Taoteching Verse 35:
35
…thus the Tao speaks
plain words that make no sense
we look but don’t see it
we listen but don’t hear it
yet we use it without end
Lao Tzu. Lao-tzu’s Taoteching: With Selected Commentaries from the Past 2,000 Years (p. 70). Copper Canyon Press. Kindle Edition.
Unable to define Zen, we are in the dark when listening and not, seeing and not. But we can live.