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A mongrel dog sniffs the Mongolian fallen,
smote on the grassy plains that will one day be desert.
The world spins its day and night, and what men do has
not the means of inflicting their ravages upon the cosmos.
What will they do once their power wanes, and their time ends?
--their virility rendered barren despite their prison's diurnal eternity.
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Knowing that death is certain and that the time of death is uncertain, what's the most important thing?
—Bhikkhuni Pema Chödrön
Humankind cannot bear very much reality.
—From "Burnt Norton," Four Quartets (1936), T. S. Eliot
Last edited by Baraka_Guru; 06-30-2008 at 02:23 PM..
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