- A self-injunction to write. How strange. I neither have a subject to write about nor an audience who cares what gets written. How to solve this impasse?
- To explicate a distant memory is always the first urge, but that is bound to reify something false. What can be written that is true but does not reify what is false? I could praise God but that requires God make himself seen. It’s perhaps the case that I’m on an elevated ground and need to descend to the void to see God. It’s always been that way, I don’t know why I’m affecting a feeling of surprise.
- We could also laugh at the absurdity of these ten strange tentacles typing these words. What makes them move?
- Deciding to get up early is the best gift you can give to yourself, but if that early is somebody else’s early too, might as well sleep until ten.
- Three bows. One for the the Tathagata, one for the Dhamma, one for the Sangha. But have you seen those who after bowing secretly scan their periphery ranking others’ bows thereby validating their own? Last time I bowed I couldn’t help but bow. It was a welling up of a reverence of Being and for Being, an exclamation.
- The Buddha asked his disciples to either talk about the Dhamma or to keep noble silence. I’d take it one step further. Noble exclamation or noble silence. All noble exclamations are Dhamma talks.
Some sweet strange longing
makes me rove through the woods and the meadows,
and to an ardent flood of tears
I’d feel a world rising inside me
(Faust, Goethe)