Speakable Truths Are Not True Truths

It was on YouTube that I first heard the meaning of the Tao Te Ching’s opening line: “道可道，非常道":

Speakable truths are not true truths. Speakable names are not true names.

“Isn’t this exactly what I realized in meditation?"

Laozi lived around 500 BC. Buddhism didn’t reach China until 600 years later. Yet what he saw aligns with Buddhist teaching. There is only one true wisdom in this world, whatever label you stick on it.

Truly enlightened monks, when they preach, speak only of plain everyday matters. A man once asked, “My neighbors are always loud. What should I do so it doesn’t distract me from my meditation?" The master answered: “Move." But on the “secret" of the Tao itself, they keep their mouths shut. Not because they don’t want to free you from suffering — because it cannot be told.

If you use just one word to describe the truth, then that is one word too much.

The truth can only be realized, not told.

So if an enlightened sage demanded I tell him what the truth of the world is, I would look at him, and stay silent.

Then why so many words preaching the way?

The truth sits on a sheer peak. All the scriptures and temples exist to bring you to the foot of the mountain — to trim you down, build your strength, fit you out with the gear for the climb. The last thousand meters of cliff, you climb alone.

This truth, the “emptiness", is what I realized in my meditation.

The Heart Sutra says: “No wisdom, and no attainment." Meaning even the wisdom gained from awakening does not exist. Meaning the moment one word sits in your mind, it is no longer empty — it has strayed from the truth.

I’ll use a metaphor to imprecisely describe what “emptiness" means.

This world is like a pond. Substances of every color interact, give off scents and sounds — endlessly bustling.

In all this commotion, acid neutralizes alkali, high despises low, cold defeats heat, yin cancels yang. The best time of your life is followed by decline. Unbreakable vow of love will still be broken by death.

Once you see through the commotion, you see the pond’s true nature: a clear pool of autumn water — colorless, scentless, soundless, formless, meaningless, free of the grip of time.

Because the sun continues to inject energy, the pond stays bustling forever.

But once you know its truth, you no longer cling to the colors, the scents, the sounds.

You can savor every fleeting beauty — fine food, friendship, love, scenery, but, when it all vanishes in an instant, your heart stays still as water.

Because nothing has changed.

Huineng, the Sixth Patriarch of Zan Buddhism in the 7th century, said:

“There is not a single thing — where could dust gather?"

It is not that the outer material world is empty. Someone on YouTube said that the vast empty space in atoms proves the emptiness. He gave himself away. Slam your head into a wall, and you get blood over your face. There is real substance there.

“Emptiness" is the state of mind when you attain the Tao.