No!

All is in the mind.
Heat is as fire.
Mind is movement.
The stillness for which we strive
Is nowhere but in the mind
And the mind is movement.

I,
The world,
God,
Ever changing --
Moving --
In the Mind.

raj

In the ancient
records illuminated
by inner moonlight
it is recorded
that a few seekers
heard an ethereal
reed flute,
unseen
beyond the clouds.
In our own time,
the reed flute
of Ch'an tradition
and the melodies
of Zen transition
provide serene
accompaniment
on a new
experiential path
of wisdom,
enlightenment,
egoless meditation
and penetration
beyond words.
Performing
the persistent
egoless
transphenomenal
attunement
attained
by Shakyamuni,
each individual
may regain
shadowless
inner sunlight
as he or she
gives heed
to the echoless
footsteps
of the egoless
existential dragon.

Hermital

E-Mail: hermital@livingston.net (hermital)

WWW: Physics, Metaphysics and the Holographic Paradigm

Beyond Zen: The Footsteps of the Dragon ... 115 Verses of Substance

Blood! Salt, red blood
stings blisters
got from the hilt of my sword.

Blood! I am covered in blood!
From finger to shoulder
nothing but blood!

We warred up and down;
The slaughter went on
the ground red and wet
yet it had not rained.

Blood! Red earth, red blood;
Screams of dying men
slaughtered like pigs
on the spike.

Whack! Thud, squelch;
A terrible sound
death all around
my sword hacks blood red!

Murder! Murder! Murder!
Kill them all
afore we are done by them!

A bloody drum beats!
Toom - Toom
Toom - Toom
and men die!
Toom - Toom
Toom - Toom
Blood!

Leather sandals -
Leather shirt -
Leather greaves -
all covered in blood!

I am a soldier
a murderer!
Driven by that drum;
Toom! - Toom!
Toom! - Toom!
Send them to the tomb!

Blood! My sandals -
full of blood!
As another falls to my sword.

Screaming men!
screaming horses!
Hot sun! hot blood!
This! This is hell!

This battle field
these hills
that drum!
Why do we fight?

From where do we come
to die?
Surely these brave men I kill
will go there.

Where will I go
when I too am done?

A blade, a flag, a trumpet.
Re-group, retreat, retire!
And they die!
Life, this universal battle!

A dying scream
wine in the fire light
a bubbling pot -
oh a soldiers life
is but fire!

Red flames, red blood
a sword, a spear, a shield
for my king;
I wonder if he knows anything?

They sing, our women sing
as tomorrow we may all be die.
I have some cuts
and skin torn away
but murder I have done.

Should I tomorrow -
kill this - round about?
Or is my soldiers work now done?

Broken, bloodied and captured tools
made for war.
Blunted, chipped and dull
and bloodied!

Will I too be broken?
Thrown on a pile and burned?
Am I too a tool of war?

I have served my king.
I've served, as this
my sword now serves.

When it breaks I may die!
Else I'll discard it
when it does!

As I have the luck
and a moments respite
I'll replace it
else off will be my head
On anothers' blade.

Yet when I break
will the king discard me?
I who have served so well?

Me thinks he will!
And thus when my body breaks
I will likewise do.
Discard it!

Who are these gods?
To whom do we bow
as down to death we go?
By Cromm! Who am I?

Did I once before
stand here bloodied,
eyes stinging,
the stench of death
and screaming men
thrashed to the dirt
on my sword?

By these Gods! I see!
My insect arms
pinchers tearing
at black insectoid flesh!
Through all these
I have come, I have torn
been torn and murdered!

I died a million times.
Now today will I die again?
With cold steel in my gizzard?
Will I scream as I leave?

By Cromm Let me die in silence!
Conscious of this I now think
so that when I die
I can find out where we go.

Lying here, I see my foot
and any else I look
is another thing -
seems this body here
of which I know
exists because I look!

This body cannot move
except by me let me see.
I wait, it moves not.
Now I see in my mind
it move, then it does!

From this body I am separate!
Blood! Blood on the battle field
the eating ants
the eating rot
all is murdered, eaten up!

Destruction, death and screaming
men chopped and hacked
and skulls caved in
the fire consumes the wood
and we are warmed.
Is this the same as all this death?
Who, by this fire is warmed?

Is it Gods or kings or men
perhaps its me?
Who knows what I am or was?

Will I destroy this tool of war
this sheath of me and out of that become more?
More of what? Oh what am I?
Am I blood?
Or does this blood which spills
wash the sand and earth in blood?

Ah! Yet cut and thrust and bleed
what makes this blood squirt?
Nay I am not blood.

What is this! The sun rises!
I have not slept
and now the battle drum!
Toom! - Toom!
Toom! - Toom!

Steve Renoir

WWW: http://www.upnaway.com/~hoppy/tlink.html

Further: See hobbit's IRC Guide