On a hike,
I come upon a tree
Raised up on its roots,
As if in mid-stride --
A long, cartoonish stride
That stretches across the trail.
But the tree doesn't stir --
No matter how quietly I wait;
No matter how long I wait.
Oh, how I wish to catch the tree
As it flees.
Wen-Tzu by Lao-TzuTo surrender to my ignorance. If one can never know exactly what game one is playing, it becomes much easier to avoid getting worked up about whether one is playing it right or whether one will “win” or not.
Anywhere copies are made,
but copies aren't exact,
selection will take place.
Some erroneous copies will
be more beloved than others.
Some errors will propagate.
Some errors will die out.
Thus is language,
thus is chemistry,
and thus is life.
Raise chaos:
That's the job of intelligent life,
to make nice & orderly things
so they can crack and shatter
and eventually end up pulverized
to dust --
A fine, granular dust that will blow
across the universe.
First, the bowl must be made:
Some potter must shape and glaze
and fire it with care,
Turning sandwiches into art...
and waste heat --
entropy slow and fast.
All so someone can crack or chip it
(with ease and lack of intention,)
starting it on a path to being sand
grains a world away.
Jagged window
on the world:
All light and sound
deadened,
but from one opening --
The cave mouth.
From behind
nothing stirs,
nothing glows,
shadows are subsumed
by shadow.
Eyes and mind
frame the cave mouth,
making the mind
a cave within a cave:
layered silence
layered remoteness,
and all input of a single,
common source.
How many caves deep might
this thing go?
Jnana-Yoga–The Way of Knowledge by Ramakrishna Puligandla
Waking to a world in which
Space & Time misbehave:
Shapes slump,
Even melting into pools,
Oozing to flatness, then
Over the edge and
Into nowhere.
Time moves in riverine fashion:
Rushing in the chokepoints
And lazing in the wide plains.
Though still flowing
Inexorably and unidirectionally.
The illusion tries
To reveal itself,
But who can understand...
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow --
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand --
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep -- while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
Many particles to the atom,
Many atoms to the molecule,
Many molecules to the cell,
Many cells to the tissue,
Many tissues to the organ,
Many organs to the system,
Many systems to the organism...
And so it goes,
The many always viewable as
a larger ONE.
