enter the hero

to sit still and watch birds on trees is akin to sitting still and allowing the original brushstrokes of intelligence hidden by refuse to be illuminated.

.

birds, the sometimes-silent sometimes-singing watchers and doers of Earth, are life's constants, your relative minutiae of infinitude as projected into the external.

wind, sometimes-invisible sometimes-suggested-by-tree-branch-movements, is the unchanging universe.

.

so often do i find myself torn between something like two possible worlds.

much less often do i allow this opposition to combine as nothingness.

贤

life is so vast, it carries the opposite in itself osho (1930-90)