17 MAGGIO 2016
You say it can’t be said. And somewhere it is written: what can’t be said can’t be whistled either.
Wrong, because I am whistling it every day. It can’t be said, but it can be whistled. And you know it too, that when you can’t say something, you find ways to whistle it. You want to say to some woman, “I love you,” and you can’t say it; then what do you do? You hug her. It is a way of whistling. You hold her hands, you look into her eyes, helpless, knowing well that you can’t say it, but still you impart, you commune. I am doing it every day.
Yes, that is right. Truth cannot be said. Nobody has ever said it, nobody is ever going to say it. By its very definition it is ineffable, inexpressible – but it can be whistled! Buddha whistled, Mahavira whistled, Jesus, Zarathustra, Mohammed. I am whistling it every day.
Of course I have to whistle it again and again because you don’t listen. And I have to whistle it again and again because every day I find I missed again. It is so difficult to say it, it is so impossible to say it. I try and then I say, “Let us see tomorrow. Let us improve it a little more. Maybe there is some other way and it can be whistled a little better.”
It cannot be said, that’s true; but it can be whistled. I am a proof of it – every day.
Osho: Ecstasy: The Forgotten Language