Cycle 8: Like a Bird, Like a Horse

Who cares about being or nothingness? I am a philosopher of rice. I don’t think, I cook: white, brown, red - long, short, medium - moist, dry, sticky - jasmine, basmati, Arborio . . . The pilaf sage knows, a bowl of steaming rice is subtler than ten Hegels.

I salt my writing with enigmas to whet your thirst for wonder.

Scrumptious Vegetarians

Buddha: This passing moment is my surpassing meat.

Pythagoras: My mother was a fish.

Da Vinci: Man's bright symmetries my meat, my drink his dark asymmetries.

Darwin: If mutation is the meat of life, selection is its potatoes.

Einstein: Relativity is the meat of the matter.

Gandhi: In peace, extremes can meet. (In peas, extremes meet.)

Humpty Dumpty Philosophy  or  Sunny-Side Up

After the fall:
My yolk runneth over.

Don’t put me together – I’ll just sit on the wall again.

Rumpy Humpy sat on the king.
Humpy Jump-Me had a great ball.

At home on the edge.

The seven fruits of joy – joy, joy, joy, joy, joy, joy, joy.

The seed of joy, the fruit of joy can only be joy, of sadness only sadness. Though joy constantly follows sadness, sadness, joy, one can never turn into the other.

O the green velocity of vegetables! Unencumbered by blue selves, their verdant innocence overruns all limits. Green me!

Waiting for the water to green, I am already drinking my tea.
(Show me how a man waits . . .)

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