Nothing is seen; if anything were seen, [we would see that] it is only through knowledge. Seeing thus, what could we say? Nothing at all.

The sūtra performs a radical reduction: if anything were to be seen, it would be seen as knowledge. But knowledge is not “something” that is seen; it is the very condition for all seeing. Therefore, “nothing is seen” does not mean blindness, but rather that there is no independent “thing” separate from the act of knowing. All seeing is knowledge seeing itself.

“Kiṃ brūmo naiva kiṃcana” — what could we say? Nothing— this is the conclusion of vāk-mātra, the silence that follows all discourse. It is not that there is nothing to say because there is nothing; it is that there is no way to say it, because saying presupposes the subject-predicate duality, and reality is non-dual.

This connects with the tradition of dakṣiṇāmūrti —Śiva as the silent teacher— who appears in the Upaniṣads and is elaborated by Śaṅkara. The most perfect guru is one who teaches nothing because there is nothing to teach; he merely removes the obstacles so the disciple may recognize what was always his own. The Aṣṭāvakra Gītā (XVIII.2) states: “The ascetic of firm knowledge neither speaks nor listens. Free from everything, he behaves like a madman, like a child, like one possessed.” This is not behaviorism, but a description of one for whom the world of words has lost its compulsion, not its beauty.