I was born a bhuddist. You know, long gray robes, vegetarian food either twice a month (on the new moon and the full moon) or always, food in front of the altars and long sticks of sandalwood incense. Everything had meaning and some things are sacred; a lot of things are not allowed, in my case slouching or leaving food on my plate. At night the living room is full of red light from the altars and I get scared going to the bathroom.

The main idea is that nothing inherently exist. I am as ephemeral as the next person, as the wind that moves the clouds, as the clouds themselves. I would be here, within the cycle of the world and with all things, but I will not be inherently me. I will change, and to linger in my current form and becoming attached to what I am would be a downfall; in order to reach nirvana I would have to stop being myself, or stop holding on to the world around me or be attached to my ego.

To do this you have to constantly keep yourself in check. The being, the soul, is naturally peaceful. The world causes it distress and discord. Anger is only within you if you allow it to be because it is something outside of you and sometimes it effects you. I picture my emotions as a being separate from myself and when I find it useful to feel a certain way, I do. When I know that feeling a certain way will cause my center to move too far, I push it away.

Sometimes the teaching confuses me. I remember sitting with a teacher once years ago in a little temple. He told me to picture myself as a little wooden stick. Think of a twig, if you will. Now place this stick among 2 others, in a way so that they will stand together. And this forms the world. You cannot exist on your own, therefore inherently existing. This existance is also no longer individual; this existance is a form, the world. The twig itself does not exist, the group exists, and the twig itself does not stand. You cannot ignore the world and live, and yet the world will collapse if the cycle does not continue.

So the dilemma is this. To be in the same plane as the bhudda, I must push away all worldly desires and all attachment. Yet to exist in the cycle of the world we must be aware of the world itself and be a part of it. Figure that one out.

So i cut my hair/ but no-one stops to stair/ not compramised by the eyes of those who compare/ to others/ it just aint the same with brothers/ word to the mothers/ seperate from the looks that smother/
don't matter keep walkin/ whos that stalking/i am the dismisser of the whisper of those who keep talking/ check the time/the rhyme keeps clocking the minutes/ i'm all up in it/ like long stockings with a run in it/
I keep i t running just to grin it