Concerning Precedence
To know is the greatest sorrow, it only serves itself
The one, first and never told. On some bright morning, walking, may you accidentally
stumble upon this. But promise, this path will lead to nowhere. How can you come from here to here? How can you leave before you arrive? Let us talk for our audience, we will be given our due attention. Look, hear, touch, feel, taste, smell and you will know all that is not worth knowing. Can we speak before we are heard? Come, the one who walks the path, as if he treads his own self, beckons. Who will hear his call?
When the leaves whisper, when the sun shines, when the clouds pass, when night unfolds itself, when morning dawns, when the flowers grow, when the birds sing, and the farmers work the field, can you not see what is worth seeing? Does the truth not unfold every moment? When an old friend visits, haven’t you come to see yourself? And when he leaves, who has left? Not the one who came, for he never did.
What can give birth to that which births everything is unknown. There is no benefit to look for something which is always found. Is there something as this? Where shall we look? Whom shall we query? It must never change, for from it comes all that does. It has preceded everything, yet must come after all it has made. All things may reflect only its nature, for it is the source that which gives nature to begin with. Even so, no nature itself may be ascribed to it. That which gives form, can we justify ourselves by ascribing it form? How can I claim the source of existence must exist? And yet, what folly it will be, to this point we remain amiss.
To fill a flask, we must empty it first. Only something full can become empty. Only empty
can become full. So it is, that all something must come from nothing. Who better to make it than one who must be its absence first? There is no difference between the one who sees, and the one seen. Is the sky any more blue than I am blue? Is the ocean any larger than I? There is that and I am the guest. I am and everything is a guest for me.
How should I move among that which gives movement? Do I not always remain? How
should I change amidst that which gives change? Have I not stayed the same? When I climb the highest peak, will I become closer to that? Shall I dig the deepest hole to refrain? Maybe it will find me, and I need never look. How easy it is for me to breathe when I forget. What other source my breath may find is unbeknownst to me. And when don’t I breathe? Has it not seen my life before I? And I have yet to find it where I started.
I cannot say it can be seen, or be what may be seen. It is that by which we must see. It is so for every endeavor. How poor thought must be! Has it not been present before I? How useless my effort is! Maybe I can build upon success, or sow seeds of failure. I can’t say from which I will stand to exceed. Is defeat less valuable than gain? Then those who say so have never lost. When one can lose completely, all is won. But who among us has the courage to lose? Then loss must carry weight.
How miserable they must be who seek, when all is given. After all, to look for myself in a
storm or a clear day is without fruit in equal measure. Or perhaps I will somehow become better by missing myself. Shall I await the claim that it may be worth to find outside myself? Who shall sing the song of joy then? Not the one who has sought, surely? What is outside is known only by what lies within. And where the outside does come, but from within shall never be settled. Even a lamp is not of use outside the house. That which finds is the one alone worth finding. This is true before truth becomes true. What reason will I give? Look, you may find it too, but promise, this path will lead to nowhere.
When you walk and you sit, when you laugh and you cry where is the one? When you sleep and you wake, when you work and you rest, hasn’t it happened through you? Who will tell me where to look for you? If only chance made our lives, how easy it would be! Can I sing without a song? Can I dance without a dance? How, then, can I live without a life? Hear, hear! I have never spoken. Who eats the apple, the person or the desire? Who gives desire, the person or the circumstance? Look! We never left our post.
When did your work begin? When you were made aware of it? When did your work end? When the tools left your hand? Everything exists in itself, and the eternal has never begun. Then so must you never start and never end. For where may you arrive but here? All fruit is derived from itself, then what is the use of needless labor? Be done with effort, for it is worth less than dirt! In planting a seed, you may only plant a seed, the flower flowers on its own. In drinking water, you may only drink water, the thirst is quenched on its own. What treasure shall you find that is not already given?
Through the mastery of the empty path you will arrive to where you started. There is no
greater joy. You stand here yet. But how you must reach always! Has the one who never started reached? Even then, that is. Perhaps only to see that progress comes, progress is made, when no progress is needed. The highest sees everything follows itself, what more may be done? And concerning you, is this any different? The empty path is eternal for it never comes to be. Those who know it have known success proper, and those who remain in ignorance will know only defeat even in the greatest victory. The empty path must remove all obstacles. And only someone who has yet to reach sees them. Then what may be the remedy? To see something which cannot be? By inspection, you will find three. The first is to make perfect your seeing, by making it continuous. How it breaks ever so often! The second and the first must follow naturally in regard to this, silence. Only confusion springs confusion. The mind, the source of all confusion must be mastered through silence. Such patience the patient must be! The third, and the one set on the most high, surrender.
What color is the one who gives color? Does she see the good of the good, the wrong of the misguided? Does she look upon the workmanship of the apt, and the lack of the inept? Does water fill those angry less than it does those compassionate? Do the clouds give way for the esteemed but not the unaccomplished? Where is the totality of the creator but in the created? Shall I climb a mountain easier with the peak, its height, and the base, its depth? Shall I drink tea better when I can call it hot? Such misery knowledge brings! To know everything, yet have nothing. Being precedes knowing. It is impossible to satisfy hunger with stories about food. Words only benefit those who don’t know.
The truth is always sought but never found. What can be found when only truth seeks?
Concerning daily affairs everyone is knowledgeable. Who among us knows what is worth knowing? Does such knowledge exist? Is not everything worth knowing? Of what use is knowledge when the knower is not known? Can a driver drive a car without knowing their tendencies first? Is the one seeking not relevant in her own quest? Where, then, is the source of her seeking? Surely the desire to seek is alone worth examining. The empty path is seldom traveled. How then can the seeker be found? Is she not always at hand? What device might she employ to seek what is first given? Very much so, all effort leads astray.
What is of greater value in life than freedom? What use is a life lived shackled? Is to be
alive not to be free? How many prisons we make! To have this and not that. How may you know what freedom is! When our feet approach a destination, when our hands make work, when we speak so our words be heard, what compels us so? Is life not the way? What comes, goes. Does life not remain? Know the eternal, the ever present. Why make haste over what must be laid to waste? Every moment reflects only the truth, the one. Then why make such fuss over the trivial?
Can I claim, then, some criteria for action? What is conduct, not yet conducted? How the
blind must need guidance! Is not motivation the criterion for all action? And when there is none, how much will there be no action! Motivation is the plight of society. In many masks will it come. The bad, the good, and the profitable. Are these not self-centered? Is it better to be bad in the name of good than it is to be in the name of self-service? Or perhaps profit will take the upper hand. How many lives shall it trample! Is the creation not complete? Not perfect? And what motive might she suppose? Does the sun not rise when it is meant to? Do the rivers not flow freely and often? Has the air filled our lungs any less than it did at first? How busy they would be if motivation moved them! Only she who may see the completeness of life be without task. Such work these free souls accomplish!
We all forget how momentary life is. Everything moves. As such it is to be alive. Yet how
fleeting. But movement is not possible without the unmoving. Were you not at rest before you stood? And the point which stands the test of storms! The unmovable is at the heart of all movement. This is never found in the inspection of the apparent. But only by its lack is it indicated. How it fills every pore of existence! Even when you will not find it in the seen. It is self, self-sustained.
thisisnotanid 