Monday, March 1, 2010


We are blessed with incongruities, as they may easily reveal perfection.
Perfection in something lacking.
Perfection in something lacking.
Perfection in our suffering to make ends meet.
Our struggle may be that perfection.

Where there is a perfectly swept stairway, there are crumbling panels on the roof above our diligent heads.
Where there is complete devotion, there is a fool.
Where there is happiness there is a weakness.
Loss only means certain success.

How could we possibly dwell in perfection?
How could it really make sense?
What it is is what it is.
What it could be dwells somewhere else.
If it is not here how could it be anywhere else?

How can anything be but its opposite?
Our imminent death reveals this clearly.
And yet we're fools to accept our mortality.
We are fools that are all right.
All of us are right.
All of us are fools.

All of us are doomed.
There is nought but suffering.
There is nought but enlightenment.
Perfection is our struggle.
Happiness is this realization.

1 comment:

  1. I have to say, I don't really get it, but I like it!
    It's like a mountain far away in a hazy morning, I see its shape, more or less, but I can't see the detail.
    Looks like some modern taoist frenzy to me though.