There have been periods in antiquity when at least some beings were granted time without distraction to devote to self-realization. How else a Patanjali's yoga sutras, which codified what they learned? How else a Soto Zen and a Rinzai Zen and the lineage of patriarchs who lived them? Not so much today, however. Certainly not in the U.S., where consumerism and pseudo-reality TV spread a wide, stultifying net over so many. I'm just damned blessed I guess. How does a regular middle caste schmo who worked without ambition just long enough to fulfill his householder responsibilities, who rode the back of the crocodile, hung on for dear life many a time, how is it that I am blessed with this opportunity now in a gator-less place and no distant shores? I hope there are many others like me. Every manifestation of peace midst the madness leavens the loaf.
Pointer of the day: "Form is emptiness, emptiness is form." - The Heart Sutra
And why, you ask, are these supposed truths couched in riddles and cryptic language, why the teasers? This is what the swamp-besotted tadpole asks of the frog who sits upon the pure land breathing the pure air: "What do you mean my tail falls off and I develop lungs? That's crazy talk!" The sooner we leave the swamp, the sooner we live without boundaries in stillness and silence, where form envelopes emptiness and emptiness pervades form. Then such riddles become rules of engagement in our battle for the high ground.
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