It takes you a long while.

The old books say kalpas.

The Teacher in the desert barked: “What’s time?”

Then, you figure it out.

You see.

The old-timers call it kensho, satori.

The Teacher in the desert declared: “It’s just blinders falling away.”

When you finally see, you no longer want to be here.

The seeing requires a letting-go for which you were never prepared.

It goes against the grasping of the Floating World.

It runs counter to your animal natures.

It’s when the Dharma becomes a biological override.

The old ones say, “Harness practice exertion.”

The Teacher in the desert said: “Eventually you will grow bored

with anything that doesn’t contain the sweet nectar of The Way.”

The moment from seeing to doing can be an arduous delay.

Even some of the greats set aside whole swaths of time

to lounge in the Halls of Decadence as a final farewell.

But, you can’t un-see what you have seen.

The old ones talk about Mara’s daughters, the arrows of demon armies;

how nothing here can compare to the ecstasy of Sukhavati.

The Teacher in the desert said: “Even that doesn’t quite get it.”

When you finally see, you no longer want to be here.

But, you see others struggling around you,

and you love them,

and the Earth Realm,

and what the world could be,

so you stay.

The Teacher in the desert says:

“I know you no longer want to be here.

You,…stay.”


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