What was that hurt you carried so lightly as we walked but so heavy in you? The way you played those strings, moved your fingers into music . . . was that . . . What music did you play only in the terrible shadows where so much of you lived? It was not me … More Not Me Who Moved the Rocks
(An Adaptation from Zhuangzi) We use a net to catch fish; then, we drop the net. We use words to say ideas; then, we . . . We must drop the words. Yet show me someone who has dropped words. No. We like to talk!
Irony is a form of love— Yes, it appears to be snark, But old saws need a shove. Irony is a form of love Because loose talk of stars above Long ago jumped the shark. Irony is a form of love— Yes, it appears to be snark.
My words are easy to understand, easy to practice, yet so few practice them. My words originate in the origin— the motions of the universe itself— yet so few follow my words, so few follow the way. Those who know are rare, a treasure. Outside, they wear rags, but inside—there is precious jade.
Two sides to every politic. … More Long Way, Short Path