Sometimes, when I wake up in the morning
The world is not what I want it to be
But the
world is still the magnificent mystery
In which I
am stuck between Plato’s ideals
And Jesus’s
Kingdom and Buddha’s Nirvana
And the
crazy man at the bus stop
The world—It
is in your face. It won’t let you go.
Descartes
got it right. Throw it all out. It is all
A bundle
of thought knots: concepts—illusions
Birth and
death and memory and hope
A dance
with realities we don’t understand
You Think:
The fact that you can doubt your doubts
Is a
clue. There is a you behind the you you
think
You are—who
loves the ideals, lives in the Kingdom,
Dances in
Nirvana and gives the crazy man at the bus stop
A hug—He
stares at you thinking you are crazy.
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