When an ailment like flu, fever,
cold, cough--especially, when they're united--prostrates me, the imbalance of
the four elements of my physical body distorts my normal way of seeing that’s
itself my own projection, the way I want to see and color. Then, say, a major
case like a recently fallen tooth, as of my own negligence, the injured eardrum
of one of the ears bleeding like a boil lanced loose, and such are like my
parts are being mutilated… Then what? Here, in a corner of the world, where
human dignity is said as still reigning, and so the rule of law, laicity
(thanks The Enlightenment movement for producing that many atheists, not
agnostics and thinkers that's out of the question for every head of you, and
the dilemma now posed by the mental sickness as depression to neurasthenia to
what, and, for the worst case, to getting converted into another faith that's
itself theistic, demanding just 'submission', axiomatic) but insecurity so
predominantly. The bottom-line cause being of twofold: taking to the core one's
own narrow way of looking at the world, self-centeredness is still taken as a
source of true happiness but in reality the opposite. In such a social
environment, so much after being a worldling to philistine to flunkey, say, in
a supermarket where I work, where I've set myself loose but equipped with my
moral ground: the philosophy propounded by Nagarjuna and training myself to
relate every act of mine to what I see with this sublime ontological finding:
Not there as we want to see, but there like in a dream that acts on oneself as
one feels and thinks and believes as but just subjective in reality, namely
self-colorations; not permanent, assuring, and out there in its own way out of
the blue at all. In such a social environment, the learning center of mine,
when I feel my parts are being mutilated, how I can maintain the same tendence,
for I haven't achieved the complete realization of it yet? But it's much, much
worth sticking to it and it pains a lot that's absolutely subjective, remember
it!
Drudge,
really a drudge,
A
check-and-bill chase,
But for a
reason sage,
A few
others’ needy case.
Drudge,
alas, a socializing means,
Looms over
as a prankster mean.
My own
condition colors those faces,
Those posing
colorations, as nuisances.
Those faces
of shoppers—
So innocent
when they fume
Just on
missing a bunch of herb perfumed.
And, now,
they appear to be so close-up, those hoppers.
And their
haste,
Like it's
all for free,
Jostling and
elbowing spree,
Like not a
second to waste.
As I retune
my ground,
I find my
own head as a grand hall,
My own voice
echoing around,
Like a
humming drone, an elegiac call:
Look at
this sad world!
And its
pride of self-enslavement
In the
name of 5G, high tech.
Futuristically
insane, so their notion of freedom.
The true
wisp of it, freedom,
They
can't take for a second,
For they
are doomed as social beings,
Conviviality-oriented
ones.
"Vous en avez plus?"
The polite phrase and the grin,
And the countenance like in a serious muse
But for basil in pot (basilic en pot), with a hope thin.
Count on her and her being somehow I can,
Like that sensible face out of the blue one day
Asking me like to a comrade in a mood wane,
"Est-ce que le patron est gentille?"
Really, on an angel you can stumble on for sure.
Really, to a sensible sageness you can inure.
Really, count on you can but only your self-command.
Really, never astray you ramble, if you meet your self-esteem demands.
