Rock slab seat
legs folded sitting alone
Not loathing noise
not savoring silence
The carefree clouds concur
Rock slab seat
legs folded sitting alone
Not loathing noise
not savoring silence
The carefree clouds concur
The Tao
gives rise to all forms,
yet it has no form of its own.
If you attempt to fix a picture of
it in your mind, you will lose
it. This is like pinning a
butterfly: the husk is
captured, but the
flying is
lost.
Why not be
content with simply
experiencing
it?
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Clouds
grow heavy; thunder goes.
Rain drives in from the east, its patter
falls on the sides of the houses. Rain can be destructive,
wiping out boundary marks. But the soil needs care — ecstatic love
has sprouts now, and renunciation. Let the rain feed both.
Only the farmer with intelligence actually brings
his harvest back to his farmyard. He will fill
the granary bins, and feed both the
wise men and the
saints.