It's come to this. The world is mind, and being in the world
is like a dream, its forces being memory, transformation, love, and karma.
Everyone is just a secondary character, most of whom exhibit
great divisional peculiarities, the worst of which is selfishness,
a manipulative attempt to manifest their personal desires.
It is, in essence, what black magic really is. I know this to be true because
each one is just a mirror of myself, and though I know the
mathematics of division, when I interact with people in this play,
I feel those age-old forces tugging at me too. And so I stay in
Pleasant Valley like a recluse Chinese poet drinking wine or playing with
myself
like Ikkyu of Kyoto does, writing what becomes revealed
while going further in this forest toward the sky. I try to leave most everyone
alone
but love them like the living pieces of my great mosaic
mirror when I allow myself to play within this dream of me and you.
The Diamond Sutra says a bodhisattva saves the world by
knowing there's no world to save. So that intention is my latest practice on the way.
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