This Horse

This Horse is unpredictable.

It gallops then trots,

This way, then that.

My trusted map turns out to be

Childish scrawl yet we climb through

beautiful valleys, lush with pines.

Abandoning thoughts of past & future

Illumined by the bright Moon,

I hum to myself,

- Squeeze its mane.

The Game

Let's play a game:

First pretend to split yourself into a billion pieces,

Then spend the rest of your life trying to put yourself back together again.

No matter what happens,

You won't move an inch.

Each moment

- a bubble of pure emptiness.

POP!

NOTHING. EVER. HAPPENED.

Day Job

To constantly reject everything but your own obvious freedom is the passion of the true nobody. What could be more compassionate and more loving than to burn all of the excuses you cling to and rob you of every limitation you hold dear?

Pathless

Really, there is no journey towards Enlightenment.

There is only the dissolution of the idea that you were ever a separate individual.