Be like water
cycling, cycling, cycling
homeless life is not easily stereotyped
fine clothes and nice dinners
a clean place to live
good friends and a healthy mind
yet,
homeless
homelessness is without foundation, without gravity, without direction
there is no value core that serves as the axis around which life's wild currents spin
empty like a whirlpool
empty like a black hole
around, around and spinning in \\\ gone
Pleasure and good-times are painful to bear. in the midst of the beautiful and extraordinaire is suffering. Immediately upon the conception of a positive opinion, "I like this", co-arises the fear of detachment from that beloved object or event. "Like", in its vernacular tone, is a grasp on the fleeting wisps of experience. to live in love is to somehow experience the physical phenomenon and objects of mind without attaching desire to them. I sit by the small river inlet in a medieval city smoking hand-rolled cigarettes, just trying to open my hand to release all of the wonderful life that has passed through me. the pleasure gives me pain. why waste time forming opinions of like and dislike? better off to have no more shi-fei in the world. Only with resistance does it's passing through leave a wound.
Only with a soul skin can we have scars. Letting things pass through, there is a peace in flow. What is my role in the Universe? The world? Society? This town? This moment? Taking very small steps is the only way to the top of the mountain. We don't need the goal in order to make the ascent. Just do whatever is pure and truthful, however small, and we will end up where we are going.
Only with a soul skin can we have scars. Letting things pass through, there is a peace in flow. What is my role in the Universe? The world? Society? This town? This moment? Taking very small steps is the only way to the top of the mountain. We don't need the goal in order to make the ascent. Just do whatever is pure and truthful, however small, and we will end up where we are going.
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Kyoto has a dark history. Circles of crows pecking at piles of beheaded bodies. Rampant martial law, elitist brothels. Now a shell of former substance, a storefront for Chinese selfies, Weird. Somehow more open and natural than Tokyo, somehow more closed and suspicious than I am comfortable with.
Back to the mountains. After all, the reason I suffer through this societies cold rains is to practice un-adultured.
