I Am Not A Teacher

Sitting at square one, there’s nothing I can say. We all must find our own way on the Way. “Rest and observe your experience,” is what my teacher gave me. 

Rest and observe. Sitting in the rubble of all the monuments I’ve made, the sky is a clear blue, it’s these eyes that grow cloudy. I’m just a writer, a fellow student of life. I have nothing to offer but a few smiles and laughs among friends and doors held open for strangers. I have no enemies.

Since I was a child, I wanted to be someone and to be part of something. Life has been a humbling of those grandiose dreams. Day-by-day, I must give them to the tides and trust that what’s given is all that I need to be happy.

There’s much I could say about the teachings. I’ve studied all the greats I can. I’ve practiced all the methods I’ve come across. If I’m ever recognized by some derelict lineage, I’m suited only as the last resort for desperate empathetic wanderers who are far too stubborn to be helped by anyone else and too smitten by doctrine to set down the map and see the path before them. For this is the road I’ve walked, I know nothing of others.

I would’ve been a mad poet hermit in ancient China, forever moved by the winds, settled in the floating world. For all the women and men of sturdier foundations, I step aside to make room. I’m just a silly empath, losing himself in the hearts and minds of those around.

Lost at sea, no land in sight
Eyes on the horizon, where land and sea unite
A glance beneath me, sky reflected all around
Who needs wings in this floating world?

Like warm wood, my heart opens. Clear water meeting the moon. I am never the same, what point is there in seeking and building houses for myself that I’ll never live in? Beneath the stars, I wander the fields and sleep in the nude.

In person, you’d never know. Because with another, I become the other, created by the other. An empty boat with a passenger, I move where you row. All seriousness hidden in motion, I shine by your light, and we laugh. Only alone do I drift in my natural character, in the shoreless world awash in stars.

The day is done, I retire for the night. Debussy’s Reverie filling the room. And still my thoughts turn to her, and in my dreams we’re together. What a beautiful life, equal parts tragedy and comedy. Bearable only because of these deep silence and communal joys.

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