Saw this one twice this week

TaoToday.com - The Daily Tao

Sixteen

Empty yourself of everything.
Let the mind become still.
The ten thousand things rise and fall while the Self watches their return.
They grow and flourish and then return to the source.
Returning to the source is stillness, which is the way of nature.
The way of nature is unchanging.
Knowing constancy is insight.
Not knowing constancy leads to disaster.
Knowing constancy, the mind is open.
With an open mind, you will be openhearted.
Being openhearted, you will act royally.
Being royal, you will attain the divine.
Being divine, you will be at one with the Tao.
Being at one with the Tao is eternal.
And though the body dies, the Tao will never pass away.

Read this Tao at http://www.schrades.com/tao/TaoText.cfm?TaoID=16

Eight

The highest good is like water.
Water give life to the ten thousand things and does not strive.
It flows in places men reject and so is like the Tao.

In dwelling, be close to the land.
In meditation, go deep in the heart.
In dealing with others, be gentle and kind.
In speech, be true.
In ruling, be just.
In daily life, be competent.
In action, be aware of the time and the season.

No fight: No blame.

Like a spigot that I open on my head.

The mountain of clothes and dishes is some sisyphean plot to bury me.

The air is swirling with the escaped moments, dreams, thoughts, pieces of who I used to be. I am that person still/again? I am something new. I am a teacher. I pass on knowledge (or at least relay it from other people.) More of a collector and disseminator. Disseminating to my seminal works. Ha!

The layers of dust are thickening. There is a film on the walls, on my skin. It is reaching into my ear. Water doesn't remove it, though I try nearly every day. I need the wind to wash it off. Is it ready to burst forth? I feel that small stirring of force. Will it sustain? Is it the magic? Time will tell.

Time for spring cleaning. Open the windows and let the outside air in. Let the fleas breath the awesome spirit of... something. The breath of the world removing all filth. A cosmic enema.

Who knows what tomorrow may bring.

"No more moving!"

Impossible. I have to be moving. If I'm not, then I'm sick or dead. I want to stop moving though. I want to let the waters calm so the mud settles and I can see the bottom sand. The ripples underneath the waves. There is a motor in me that won't quit. It sends steam up my throat to fire my brain engine. The pressure behind my eyes forces them to dart about, looking for relief.

My body is failing. The joints are coming unhinged. The outer layers are peeling off. Things are erupting out. The container is coming apart, unable to hold all of me together anymore.

Calm. Calm. I pray for calm. Maybe not pray. To pray would be to open myself up to the outside. That's something I really can't do. The world is not ready. The ooze inside is not a pretty site.

I see the collections of my life surrounding me and wonder if I'm connected to these things, or will they just blow away with the next breeze. What will be left when all the outer layers have been stripped away. What will be at the core? Is there one? (I'm devolved into the question game again.)

I ask the universe (or myself) to guide me.

Dripping

What happens every day? Rosy and sunshine, although groggy, in the morning. There is always a point in the day when it all runs down into the ditch. Sometimes it's a gradual slope, and sometimes it's a cliff. But it's always there.

Poet, writer, scientist, teacher, mathematician, filmmaker, programmer, political activist.......... or none of these.

A new Moleskine notebook was purchased today. Hurray! This is it! This is the thing, the item that will change everything. My life, my marriage, my kids. The key to everything. Hallelujah!

What did I forget today? What will I lose from my mind tomorrow? It's all dripping out, unnoticeable until the head is half empty. How much time is left?

Maybe I should document the little details of my life with photos. A slice of place and time that someone will see someday and wonder what it means. Maybe the future will be populated with diviners of such skill that they can extrapolate a whole lifetime from how papers were placed on my desk.

Eyes

His eyes look through me. Damaged. Remnents of video screen reflections from an hour ago still visible. This is the face I'll see 20 years from now in my dreams when I'm wondering what went wrong.