The ancient Masters slept
without dreams and woke up without worries.
Their breath came from deep inside them. They didn’t cling
to life, weren’t anxious about death. They emerged without desire
and reentered without resistance. They came easily; they went easily.
They didn’t ask where they were from; they didn’t ask where
they were going. They took everything as it came,
gladly, and walked into death without fear.
They accepted life as a gift, and
they handed it back
gratefully.
Those who follow
Tao strive for perfection,
but they are wary about being called
prophets. That is a limited role. Being a prophet
represents a great trap baited with the temptation of
self-importance. The ultimate aim of following
Tao is to transcend identity. Those who call
themselves prophets or even masters
maximize their identities.
It is far better
not to be a prophet, and to
eschew the responsibilities, limitations,
and temptations. It is far better to be obscure
and to be thought stupid. Having someone call you
by a title is an interference that you don’t need.
When you are seeing the greatest wonder
of your life, the last thing you want
is to have someone blocking
the light.
Whip
and tether, self
and bull, every thing
is no thing. The clear blue
sky is unmarked by a message.
Could a snowflake persist
in a flaming fire? This
is the place of
masters.