Are you a leader or a follower?
That’s a tough one because I think most people who would describe themselves as followers have failed to write their story boldly enough. Yet, the majority of people who describe themselves as leaders are more full of hot-air than of the capacity to inspire others to action.
I’d say, overall, I’m neither a good follower nor a good leader, but in varied contexts – as necessary – I can pull off either.
I think it might just be a false dichotomy.
What’s one small improvement you can make in your life?
Realize you have no control of what happens in the world, but complete control of your perception of it.
What are your favorite brands and why?
The ones that offer the best value for the money at a given time. I have no brand loyalty, and — in fact — find it to be an absurd concept. It’s corporate hacking of humanity’s proclivity for tribalism in service of profit-maximization.
They carved a temple in a mountainside,
Cutting away all rock that wasn't temple,
Chipping from the top down and outside-in,
Until some domed stone segregated sky
From inner sanctum and all its idols,
And it has stood over twelve hundred years,
And it will surely stand twelve hundred more,
But someday it'll be a mountain again.
Without a word,
The gist is grasped.
With no wails or soft sobs,
Sadness spreads heart-to-heart.
There is an enigmatic Prime Mover
With whom each of us either sinks or floats.
Dregs of rustic wine in a fine strainer.
Buds on the cusp of bloom turned back by cold.
Dust motes spreading by Brownian motion.
Sea spume floating and tumbling onto shore.
Shallow, deep, cohering, or scattering.
Of ten thousand, any sample will do.
NOTE: The late Tang Dynasty poet, Sikong Tu (a.k.a. Ssŭ-k‘ung T‘u,) wrote an ars poetica entitled Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry. It presents twenty-four poems that are each in a different tone, reflecting varied concepts from Taoist philosophy and aesthetics. Above is a translation of the twelfth of the twenty-four poems. Translated titles vary: Herbert Giles entitled this one “Conservation,” whereas Tony Barnstone and Chou Ping called it “The Implicit Style.”
The night is clear, even pristine --
A nightscape in silver moonlight.
"Yes, please! Pour me a bowl of wine.
Don't skimp! take it up to the brim."
And why should I chase wealth and fame
When it is sure to end in vain?
Events pass like a horse's sigh,
A spark on stone, or dream travel.
I can put out my ideas,
But who'll accept them as the truth?
Why shouldn't I just live happily
And innocently, like a child?
I could go back to carefree days
When life's trifles weren't torturesome.
Just me, my lute, a pot of wine,
And the stories drawn by the clouds.
NOTES: Song Dynasty Poet, Su Shi, was also known as Su Dongpo. The translated title of this poem also varies. In Deep, Deep the Courtyard, translated by Xu Yuanchong, it is entitled, “Song of Pilgrimage.”
Stoop anywhere and pluck it up,
But if you look 'round - it's not there.
Any path may lead you to it.
A stroke of the brush becomes Spring,
And the flowers are in full bloom. --
It's like seeing a new year dawn:
Snatch at it and you won't have it.
Seize it by force and you'll be poorer.
Be like the old mountain hermit --
Like duckweed gathered by stream flow.
Find calm amidst storms of feeling
By knowing Heaven's harmonies.
NOTE: The late Tang Dynasty poet, Sikong Tu (a.k.a. Ssŭ-k‘ung T‘u,) wrote an ars poetica entitled Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry. It presents twenty-four poems that are each in a different tone, reflecting varied concepts from Taoist philosophy and aesthetics. Above is a translation of the tenth of the twenty-four poems.
Under the wide and starry sky,
Dig the grave and let me lie.
Glad did I live and gladly die,
And I laid me down with a will.
This be the verse you grave for me:
Here he lies where he longed to be;
Home is the sailor, home from sea,
And the hunter home from the hill.
Walk with a mind that's clear and unburdened,
With life force that flares -n- flows like rainbows,
Traversing the witch's gorge through the mountains --
Among the floating clouds and blowing winds.
Drink up the spiritual; dine on the real;
Let them ever build up in your body.
Emulate the health and might of the gods,
Preserve your energy through harmony.
Be one with Heaven, be one with the Earth.
See in yourself divine transformations.
Know all this to the utmost -- be all this,
And hold on to it 'til the bitter end.
NOTE: The late Tang Dynasty poet, Sikong Tu (a.k.a. Ssŭ-k‘ung T‘u,) wrote an ars poetica entitled Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry. It presents twenty-four poems that are each in a different tone, reflecting varied concepts from Taoist philosophy and aesthetics. Above is a translation of the eighth of the twenty-four poems.
The Perennial Philosophy Reloaded: A Guide for the Mystically-inclined by Dana Sawyer
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