Nothing is in Our Hands

Nothing is In Our Hands

Life is never inhibited by Ignorance
It passes on its message
Generation to generation
In the murmur of each moment

Unperturbed by false authority.
The thread of Loveliness
is never lost to itself.

The mighty River does roar.
And at its source a vast, sacred pool.
Cradle of secrets.

Intelligence washes over us.
I hear sighs of lamentation rising to heaven.
I observe the grasping of the fearful.
I am The silent, heartfelt witness;
Disciple to the Sun.

Within us, an immutable stone,
bombarded by an endless batallion
of marching waves.
Mirror to the Mysterious Moon,
Ever waxing, ever waning...
Ever falling into itself.

En passant...

Our bodies are fashioned
from collected dust and clay
In a sad and wilting hallucination.

Yes, the leaves will fall from the trees...

Dusk will bring shade to those weary of the heat.
The angry will be nourished by the love of wholesome things.
Thunder and lightning shall bring respite to the lunatic.

To live by the grace
of hidden music
That is Living

Nothing is in Our Hands

The original meaning of Bhikkhu (an appelation for a Buddhist monk) - 'one who sits with his own terror.'

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Mind is the closest thing to our Reality...Be careful how you use it. Businessman, yogi, teacher, addicted to laughing...