Silence, as an expression of the organism, is a strange sensation. I'll see if words can do it justice. First, the physical body as it appears in the phenomenal world:
The feet are square on the floor. Buttocks firmly planted on the padded seat. Spine slightly arched, not touching the backrest. Hands resting on the table top. There is a slight breeze on the nape of the neck, and the eyes are closed.
Stephane Grappelli and Django Reinhardt play in the background. There are many people seated close by and they all seem to be talking. The eyes open to look, and the story of people talking is no longer a story but a confirmed fact.
The eyes close as the blood flows. The heart beats and doesn't seem to falter. For that, one is thankful.
Now, the physical body as it is, beyond the phenomenal:
There is a tightness in the throat, and a feeling of great pressure a few inches above the forehead. It is not quite comfortable, but is easily lived with.
It is easy to feel blood flowing through various parts of the body, but for some reason, it is as if the blood doesn't reach the head. No, it feels as if there is no head to be reached. Just the sensations in the throat and above the forehead.
A great emptiness is here, and there are no physical boundaries. Whatever this is, it cannot be contained within the skin. The borders have vanished and only being remains. The universe is breathing itself.
There are no stories, no reason, no conclusions, and no struggle. All things known - that have ever been known - are simultaneously here and not here.
Some might call it bliss, but there is no one to be blissful. Some might call it authentic happiness, but there is no one to be happy. There is no one to want for any state or result, but it is still entirely available.
All things are available at all times. Perhaps this silence just makes it jump out; a brilliant color, against an otherwise dreary background.
This is how silence came to Takuin this evening.