noname wrote:
>David has posted about his "workings" and results, i wish him well, but he
>seems to be off in left field somewhere, which may be due to my being off in
>a different left field somewhere.
He appears to me to be stuck in a loop. Aye,
and knowing how my own cycles go
to relate to him is possible.
To want to fix the world, to see a decline in murder rates,
or help people move from one plane to another
in mid-air wing-walkers take flight.
>Taoism is a funny thing. A philosophy, a Way of going about things.
Tickles me out of pickle jars at times.
>What may look like a fancy footstool one can prop his feet on, the way some
>of an academic inclination may see it, might have a different meaning to those
>of a more engineering take on things. There are legends of taoist magic, and
>of taoist immortality, and even the most insane legends like these, are based
>on something, at least credible enough to bother repeating (even if it's a
>lie). What Watson sees as a footstool, Holmes may choose to see as a toolbox
>with miracles inside.
Siddhis are real, in my experience.
To be immortal as immortality wells is also one.
Some stories are simply stories while others metaphor
their Ways beyond being simple or mere tales.
>There are ways to see a thing, depending on how one has his macroscope set to
>see, the various ways things may be. Some put wax on the superficial to see
>how prettily it can be made to shine. Others dig deeper, or more shallowly,
>depending on where the beginning is made, to see what is inside, the li of the
>briar, or the way the bellstand fits into the larger view, before deciding
>what to remove and what to polish, in order to attain the perception already
>chosen.
Yesterday, a book, Lost in Math, was completed
in terms of reading what the author had to say
about beauty being perhaps not the best way
to seek to find new forms of doing physics.
Taoism returned to me, reading the book.
How beauty and ugly emerge as a pair.
Mother Nature is so cool, she wears
shades of many. Greens and seen
her mud and blue skies shine
until the cows come home
to roost the chickens do
as wells and to think things
are, made, of smaller and ever
smaller so-called, things, physicists' dew
condenses and falls off leaves like a tree leaving
me in a wonder of wonders, at times, within time being.
>We all choose our perceptions, as they come into focus as this, or as that.
>The difference between choosing and deciding is one to ponder at times.
Semantics and contexts
yes and know go they.
>Decisions tend to be doings, choices not so much.
Okay sew far.
>When we decide, we weigh and measure, each alternative placed on the scale,
>values and desires participating like a happy mob without focus, with devious
>motives on the side.
>
>When we choose, it's of-the-instant, values alone, one's essential nature in
>the pivot, no measurement involved.
To decide, then, is wei, ore yu-wei.
Choosing, in a given present, is wu-wei.
As wells defined, thirst may be quenched.
>The trick then, as i see things, is to avoid decisions in favor of choices,
>and that probably sounds a bit mad to some. But decisions are always
>motivated, by desire or its evil-twin fear; choices are simply made.
For me, to weigh, weigh, weigh and wait
until the scales balance and to be on a beam
when a needle points or scales over mine eyes tip
topsy turvy, a choice is rung up. And off to the starting
blocks go a me to find what a finished line brings and
round after round until finally sound a thing is done
once and for all, unless it isn't, quite, at times.
>Decisions are doing, choices not so much.
When all the lights are green and all the stars line up
it feels right and maybe it is for a spell cast and
the next bend brings too much nitrogen or
thin air is out of what things are made.
>The way of making a bellstand then, involves something. Likewise the way of
>slicing an ox, involves something.
>
>What this something is, may or may not be clear. I'd call it a Way.
Mind-fasting is what Woodcarver Qing did.
Heart-fasting is another translation. Wu-xin.
He'd sit and do nothing until he'd forget.
Forget all about the task at hand.
Until with an axe in hand, he would
go in to the woods to see what he could
see and if he saw the perfect tree, chop chop,
but if not, then that was that for the time being.
Cook Ting's blade went snicker-snack making sliced ox
out of the whole uncarved which might be funny
if to not carve was a point being made.
He'd dance his Way thru the li, the muscle-fiber,
until a knotty part made its own way as the knife
made its own way and then Ting would slow
while the pointlessness of the knife would
find the emptiness of the ox and then
the ox would fall apart, ker plop.
Ting would then smile.
- naturally, choices made, no decision kneaded