Submit a poem. The best poem will succeed me, and will receive the robe and begging bowl, handed down from the Buddha.

The favourite, Shen-hsiu, writes on the wall:

The body is the Bodhi Tree;
The mind like a bright mirror standing.
Take care to wipe it all the time,
And allow no dust to cling.

Hui-neng, a kitchen drudge, writes the next day, beside the first poem:

There never was a Bodhi Tree,
Nor bright mirror standing.
Fundamentally, not one thing exists,
So where is the dust to cling?

Hui-neng is deemed the successor, and receives the robe and begging bowl, handed down from the Buddha.

—Modified from Alan Watts—

Lesson: don’t fuck around with the people who make your food (and tip your server, damnit!).

Human

Pig roasts are the best
As long as you aren’t the pig.

Wrap it in taro leaves and call it laulau à la Napoleon.

The church still claims the tree of life
The hanging fruit is purest white
You pick it, eat it
Then I see,
It's treating you, not fooling me.

The fruit found next is swollen ripe
The juice runs sweet, the nectar lush
And so I bite
And so I see
Your pure white fruit was always mush.

Lesson: Some times the frosting is hiding something other than cake.

The horse leaves piles on the ground
The best fertilizer to be found
When rightly aged is white as snow
It helps to make our flowers grow
Or seeing as the Mormons see
Popcorn popping on the apricot tree

One man’s shit is another’s shineola



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 02/03/2020 11:07AM by babyloncansuckit.

I looooove that one! Haha.

like a sword that cuts, but cannot cut itself

like an eye that sees, but cannot see itself

like a shit that smells, but cannot smell itself

Satori in Hawai’i

it is just as true to say

that the sun is light

because of the eyes

as to say that

the eyes see light

because of the sun


no thing to recover

no thing to recover from

no thing

aha