DAILY PHOTO: Canton House Gate
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…we should not be too confident in our belief of anything.
cicero; tusculan disputations
No matter what plans you make,
Rumi; Mathnawi II
no matter what you acquire,
the thief will enter from the unguarded side.
Be occupied, then, with what you really value
and let the thief take something less.
Very little is needed to make a happy life;
Marcus aurelius; Meditations
it is all within yourself, in your way of thinking.
I possess, but I am not possessed by her;
aristippus [according to Diogenes laertius in
since the best thing is to possess pleasures
without being their slave,
not to be devoid of pleasures.
lives of the eminent philosophers]
Do not fear the gods.
philodemus; Herculaneum papyrus
Do not fear death.
What is good is easy to attain.
What is painful is easy to endure.
[Often referred to as the four cures of epicurus]
Language can be complex, reason may sprawl,
And words don't always seem to point the way.
Extremes aren't always clear and distinct.
Overhauls are not always an upgrade.
The gist may dwell in a key phrase or two --
Those words the whip that make it race or stay.
Though multitudinous words are in place
They must do more than roar, hiss, or bray.
Overuse of the whip exhausts the horse --
Keep the impulse to whip too much at bay.
The original lines in Simplified Chinese are:
或文繁理富, 而意不指适。
极无两致, 尽不可益。
立片言而居要,乃一篇之警策。
虽众辞之有条,必待兹而效绩。
亮功多而累寡,故取足而不易。
List three books that have had an impact on you. Why?
Steven Kotler’s The Rise of Superman changed the way I looked at mind-body development.
Water Margin [a.k.a. Outlaws of the Marsh] convinced me a sprawling epic could be worth reading if it was done well, it kicked my love of Chinese Literature into high gear, and it started me on the path of learning Chinese.
Self-Reliance and Other Essays by Ralph Waldo Emerson had a major influence on my early philosophical development — especially the titular essay.
Now, I’m thinking I should’ve pushed one of these out for Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman, but perhaps another time.

unfurled buds,
not drooped to gravity,
tell Spring’s story.

What mysteries lie behind
That old green wooden door:
Carved elaborately
In bygone days?
On a street that features only sights
Both newer and more decrepit,
It stands out as a grand entrance
That begs something special
Beyond.
I’d hate to think it’s just
Old paint cans —
Half empty and congealed
Beyond usefulness.
I doubt it’s a brothel or speakeasy —
Too silent…
But a vault of lost masterpieces,
Inhabited by a hairy-legged spider,
Might not be too much to ask.
Life contracts and death is expected,
As in a season of autumn.
The soldier falls.
He does not become a three-days personage,
Imposing his separation,
Calling for pomp.
Death is absolute and without memorial,
As in a season of autumn,
When the wind stops,
When the wind stops and, over the heavens,
The clouds go, nevertheless,
In their direction.

trunk splits to branches
that stretch to the edge
of oxygen’s crossing.