Thief

A Zen master once asked two of his students what the true nature of a particular vase of water was.. he who answered best would be allowed to ascend to the next level in the master’s teaching. The first student exclaimed "it is not a tree." Thus stating the nature of the vase in terms of what it was not, as Zen seeks to destroy all ties between labels and things. However the second student, when asked the same question, merely tipped the vase over with his foot, and silently walked outside. It was this student who ascended…

Lately, more and more, I’ve been finding words to be drastically insufficiant in terms of representing things percieved. I blame my small vocabulary, my awkward and erratic writing style, and my inability to carve an idea out – one piece at a time. All the while my thoughts stray deeper and deeper into isolation… dark whispers with no manifest, or a divinely pleasureable breath with no natural ability to share itself with any one else. I can see them, visably, in my mind’s eye… a long line of facinations that extends upwards. Beneath this lies the meandering plane of my prose, falling father and farther below as my thoughts climb higher and higher into the star-less sky; but never towards any sort of conviction. To have any conviction, I can only assume, is to be wrong. To apply any validity to this temporary consciousness of mine seems equally wrong and pointless.. for validity is a gift I’ll not have snatched away from me by God – like everything else I could possibly posess.