Utters “om,” not “brains”.
Is not attached to the body.
Is not attached to the mind.
Decay is one aspect of the cycle
Of birth, life, death, rebirth, redeath.
Never perfumes or gilds the self.
Comes back for you.
Perhaps right behind you.
“Keep going,” he says, in his own way.
Observes a walking meditation.
Does not hurry, or drive cars or trucks.
Or tanks, or gunships or warplanes.
Will not touch money or liquor,
Is beyond the vices of lust and greed.
Not one possession of the past matters.
Old names are useless.
Accepts every moment with equanimity.
No fear. No pain. No anger. No jealousy.
Burn him. Cut him. Shoot him. Flee him.
It is the same.
The old riddle still applies:
“Meeting the Buddha on the road,
You can say nothing to him,
You cannot remain silent.
What do you do?”
You will destroy him to be comfortable.
Some will follow his path,
Become one with him,
Laughing at the dancing bones of zen,
The lessons of an uncertain universe.
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