what happens when i read only zen

I

I use a line that is dead and predetermined as long as I need a temporary guide along which to move. When I discover the pulse of my heart, I consider it; that is a mechanism and marker of my individual trajectory. I may modify its rhythm through appropriate exercises, when I feel it is necessary, without attempting to cut short nor implode its strikes. I can slow down my breathing when doing the things I love, so that my slower heart rate will allow the moment to feel longer. 

If I permanently set my internal clock to the rhythm of dead and predetermined lines, I give little opportunity for my own autonomous motor to run its course. Some of my ideas may have the lifespan of a mouse and others might move more like a whale. A line that is dead and predetermined can arbitrarily scale the bodies of my ideas without considering the size of their hearts and the proportions needed to keep the right amount of blood flowing throughout their whole systems. The crown of branches growing from the top of their heads and the roots spreading from the bottom of their backs need every ounce of blood they can receive to keep expanding me, while firmly planting me.

II

Life wants to hold me in its grasp for eternity, despite an inevitable cessation in the heart beat of my current body. I let life have its way. I live as if I will forever, and I suddenly receive a present from life granting me all the time and opportunities for the dreams I have. 

Occasionally, I adopt the mindset of living as if I will die tomorrow to give myself a sense of urgency; to pack my bag of experience and make sure I can grab as much as I can before I part. Then, I remember the pleasure of traveling light, and I regain an ease to the steps of my walks whether they are lindy or predetermined.

III

Something about the thought of development actually excites me, when I think about the devotion I must give to each battle individually. A dishonorary suicide only occurs to me when I think about the multiplicity of battles I must partake in. But just one is fine. 

Each dish in the sink is a separate feat. I could not possibly complete all of them at once due to the limit of my form (at least for now). However, if I approach a single dish as fortuitously as having to wash only this single dish, or for the duration of washing it give it my undivided attention, then it feels attainable. The battle actually feels vital to my life force.

IV

In a world that is immanently doomed, I have had no trouble finding beauty. Perhaps as the kind of wizards that some of us are, our work is to make these things more visible, to give courage to ourselves and to others to survive in spite of the world’s inherent hopelessness.

V

Today I see a completion to the world. It feels full; as full as it always has been and always will be. It makes me question my continuous search and expectation to add something to it. 

VI

I always want to rave after a new found wisdom or a transformation in my armor, but this time I will remain more humble and unannounced.

VII

I have been training to try and think outside of duality, but it is hard to not be impressed by all of the couples in this world. I have been close to it before though. I have had moments when I think I have looked over to the next step. When I have been on the perimeters of life’s concentric circles; on the division line between order and chaos, right on the split between the use of language for its sake and its inability to perform the thing outside of itself, when words become entities yet so easily perishable. I had an eye in blue and one in red, and my vision kept flashing between the two colors, forming some kind of purple, some kind of recalibration for me to just sense. I have been seated on the floor before and saw what I thought was a solid wall of my room be drawn like a curtain to reveal a new platform, with teasers of alternate arrangements to embody if I am ready to complicate my current one. 

VIII

In the mornings I practice humility with the birds. As they descend from their design granted flight, pointing their beaks downward to search for food or rest, I too lower my forehead to the ground in admittance of my smallness, in my search for modesty, in my gratitude for the world that stretches infinitely beyond my perception into either direction or scale. I bow once to acknowledge my form. Twice for the comforts of my immediate atmosphere. Three times for my loved ones. Four times in admiration of the nearby topographies. Five times for the atoms that diffuse the sharpness of edges. Six times for a thank you that can reach at least one of Jupiter's moons. Seven for the marvels that never cease to permeate the world yet still surprise me at our encounters. Eight to give a kiss to a spot that could potentially bloom a flower. Nine simply to reach a state of mmmmmmmmm. Additional ones if I feel so inspired; multiplied by the number of days that my humbleness reminds me.