Zhuangzi says the first veil is the words themselves.
The fish trap exists because of the fish; once you have the fish, you can forget the trap. The rabbit snare exists because of the rabbit; once you have the rabbit, you can forget the snare. Words exist because of meaning; once you have the meaning, you can forget the words.
Where can I find a man who has forgotten words, so I can have a word with him?
Words exist because of meaning; once you have the meaning, you can forget the words.
The first course opened with Lao Tzu saying the Tao that can be told is not the Tao. Zhuangzi, a century or two later and far funnier, gives the same warning a set of tools. The fish trap is for the fish. The snare is for the rabbit. Words are for the meaning. Nobody keeps the trap on the table after dinner.
The veil, then, begins at the vocabulary. God, emptiness, the Tao, the ground, this site’s own word recognition: every one of them is a trap, and every one of them will catch something if you use it right and nothing if you sit and admire it. Read the passage and then its last line, which is a joke with a hole in the middle of it: where can I find a man who has forgotten words, so I can have a word with him? Zhuangzi knows you cannot get there without the trap. He only asks that you not confuse it for dinner.
Which word did you use today as if it were the thing?