Dharma Done Blow

Ok little floofy baby

chew on this

mentally, that is

do some brain chewing


Just imagine really sophisticated ramen.




Brain Pasta


I know

your primary reasoning faculties are as good as smithereens at this point

drink it in, the sauce

Here’s my question

Does the adventurer seek the answers

Or does he seek the place and context in which he finds the ability to know himself?

How many times have you ended up where you started?

And the journey itself was not a means to find the end, but rather a means to inform the beginning?


I’m really shooting in the dark here

maybe someday the strength of my experience will match the oldness of my soul

I pray to God I pay attention on my own journey

But at this point, I’m just throwing out guesses

Possibly the knowledge of dharma consists of the parts of individuality itself:

the Divine, the World, and the Ego.

Should the adventurer just stop anytime he feels the breeze?

If indeed the answers blow there.

The adventurer is never his own answer

But after his journey…

Maybe he is.


Here’s what I’m saying


Snoop Dogg smokes approximately 81 grams per day

And as humorously marvelous as that is, it will kill him

And if it does not, his humanity will.

Snoop will die

and regardless of whether I live long enough to witness his helpless fade from existence

and maybe even longer still to recall in vain his forgetting,

that time when he passes into obscurity and unknown inconsequence in the world of souls will soon by virtue of the cosmos’ sacred and legislated internal order embody what is meant by ‘present’

and nobody will care

Heck, nobody cares now!

Sorry Snoop

You’re still a g in my book tho dawg.

The adventurer is a mist among mists

who may blow some mist as well heh heh

again, with the Snoop thing

And to say that dharma resides permanently in the external mist

and blows into the wandering wondering soul of humble awe

through the eyes and the ears,

such a statement might just be a word spoken from short sighted dogma –

one which has mistaken the journey for a route to the treasure at the end of the line

But who am I to say at this moment

My understanding of what I just wrote far falls short of the sort of confidence one might prefer in the author of the musings one reads


Sustenance for thought I suppose

Nothing more

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