a snake
 

once there was a snake!
he saw a flower!
he wanted to eat it!
but he thought if he ate that flower, he will be lonely,
so he didnt ate that flower! :eek:

What's so philosophical about that?

Snakes don't eat flowers. They only like eating things they can crush the life out of first. A flower's lack of a scream makes it a very unsatisfying meal.

Is This!
Supposed to be!
A Metaphor!
For Something!

yes. a person who still can't spell rhyhtmthm. thm.

A snake, a snake! Ooooooooh it's a snake.

badger badger badger badger....

this is actually quite deep. the snake represents our inate urge to damage beauty. the flower, obviously represents that beauty. the snake, though has improved himself enough to realize that if he ate the flower, he wil no longer be able to admire it. it speaks volumes about the desire to reach nirvanah in all of us that must struggle daily with our base instincts to create havoc.

or, this is a bunch of mystic bullshit like the last poem.

cock!

Exactly what I first thought. : pie:

And eat - I mean ATE - their grammar textbooks. ;)

ROT IN HELL, M**********R!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Here, let me help you get that song out of your head:

:band:
This is the song that does not end,
It just goes on and on my friend.
Some people started singing it not knowing what it was,
And they'll continue singing it forever just because...

Mystic Rythm (sic) is NO Angus Mann.

wistful sigh. I miss Angus. He was pure genius.

[paraphrase Steve Martin] Yeah, I remember the first time *I* did acid...[/paraphrase Steve Martin]

Hey! Mystic ain't as dumb as s/he appears. Where else could an uneducated kid with nothing original to say get the attention of a bunch of witty, intelligent adults except here?

Mystic probably writes down our smart ass replies and hands them in to his/her remedial English teacher. :haha:

Absolutely Nothing!!

That's my point. I'd say to stick it where it belongs but there isn't a pointless drivel section.

Am I the only one who misses Angus Mann? I find that hard to believe. Oh, well. Carry on, pointless drivel.

I really prefer Angus Mann to the 3-page books expounding upon "Why Those Morons In The Government Should Listen To My Ideas About How To Run The World"

I think if this is to become the pointless drivel thread, I shall remain in here. Should fit in nicely. :lol:

Reminds me of a Koan.

Buddha told a parable in sutra:

A man traveling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled, the tiger after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of a wild vine and swung himself down over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him from above. Trembling, the man looked down to where, far below, another tiger was waiting to eat him. Only the vine sustained him.

Two mice, one white and one black, little by little started to gnaw away the vine. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Grasping the vine with one hand, he plucked the strawberry with the other. How sweet it tasted!

Mokugen was never known to smile until his last day on earth. When his time came to pass away he said to his faithful ones: "You have studied under me for more than ten years. Show me your real interpretation of Zen. Whoever expresses this most clearly shall be my successor and receive my robe and bowl."

Everyone watched Mokugen's severe face, but no one answered.

Encho, a disciple who had been with his teacher for a long time, moved near the bedside. He pushed forward the medicine cup a few inches. That was his answer to the command.

The teacher's face became even more severe. "Is that all you understand?" he asked.

Encho reached out and moved the cup back again.

A beautiful smile broke over the features of Mokugen. "You rascal," he told Encho. "You worked with me ten years and have not yet seen my whole body. Take the robe and bowl. They belong to you."

Buddha didn't make a lot of sense.

Just because you're unenlightened... ;)

i gazed at my feet
. unsure
yet the earth there
remained unmoving
.
it was 10:03

and the clouds had not yet gathered


. my nutsack hurts

Then I saw that I wore ruby slippers
(with diamonds on the soles).
I became filled with answers,
and the earth moved beneath me
at e=mc2 o'clock.
What did I care about storm fronts?
I stepped on the head of the snake
with my sharp diamond toes.

a butterfly flew across the sun
it's shadow crossed my path

but i was getting snake off of my shoe
113 carats of death

princess cut
VVS1
color: D

the butterfly's shadow burns

burns burns burns
nutsack moving earth:
E=clarity and precision cut squared

the snake is unmoving
the flower is unforgiving

to and fro

"The whole world is burning, Oh bikhu's!"

"Burning with what, oh Master?"
they asked the Budhha.

"Desire," he said
as he crunched his teeth into the crisp apple,
his eyes glinting like diamonds
(princess cut
VVS1
color: D)

The snake grabbed it chance in an e=mc2
and was re-incarnated as a lotus flower.

cannot be taken
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
an ASCII rocketship
made of Zen

please don't let me have the last word on this. it's embarrassing.

Watch it, bro. I could ask UT to delete this post and lock the thread, you know ... :evil grin:

but Buddha would not approve of such action.

be at peace, sister Wolf. The lotus blossom smiles upon your good fortune.

(there Noodle. now i am the fool.)

Ah, but THAT is what makes you the enlightened one, Queen! ;)

I want to be Buddha- have a bunch of people bring me food and flowers and stuff, and rub my belly, and I just spout off some nonsense about wind and grasshoppers, and they all worship me. Where do I apply?
(did we scare Mystic Misspeller out of his own thread?)

Maybe. Yet, I don't care. I am more interested in your proposed lifestyle and means to achieve it...I like flowers, too! (and having my belly rubbed.) :)

I like the being worshiped part. Maybe we could start our own snake cult! ;)

A nice policeman declared me a goddess and told me he was building a shrine to me.

I get that a lot.

You lucky girl! I want to be worshiped by the police, too! Do you think cops would join a snake cult? :D

I believe it. :D
I use that line a lot amongst friends: "You are a goddess, and I worship you." my way of saying thanks, ya know?

"This universe is a big python chewing on its own tail!"

Buddha attained highest form of life and was based on his brain power. So brainless people are out of contest of 'being a Buddha'.

Yes you are. :eyebrow:

just to be a dick:

Pythons don't chew.

Buddha achieved enlightenment not through brain power, but spiritual awareness. The cellar is chock full of spiritually aware people. Godless heathens, most of em, but aware, at least. :lol:

The first lucid post to date.

At least she made it easy to figure out where she came up with this one.

Yeah - like Mystic, they smother the life out of their prey.

I'm a polytheistic moron - does that mean I qualify for Buddha status?

Yes, all beings have Buddha nature. Even pythons. Even Mystic Rythm.

I made an intensive study of spiritual philosophies for many years until I sat down under the shade of that Bodi tree and finally attained enlightenment. But the 4 fold-noble path is open to all who choose to walk it. Some attain understanding through study. Some by chopping wood.

Namaste',

Buddha ;)

A word of advice: Be careful to not spill the bongwater on the floor - it NEVER comes up.


Ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss! :)

I wonder what Mystic is doing right NOW? I wonder if he's composing another mind-blowing poem? His poems haunt me. I think about them, mull their various meanings over in my mind, dream of them and pass on their crunchy nuggets of goodness to everyone I meet.

Really? You actually remember them past leaving this thread? Now I am the one that is haunted.

(creepy ghost-y music) Yes! Be afraid! (ghoulish sounds, moaning) The power of the Mystic is awesome! (chains dragging on wooden floor, screams)

for some reason the "store crappy poems" switch is permanently turned off in my brain - perhaps from oversaturation.

Too much Emily Dickinson and ee cummings in college too, eh?

What do I know. My favorite poem is "Death of the Ball-Turrett Gunner."

wolf, you're a different breed.

And just exactly how much ee cummings is too much? I love ee. He's so dirty!

My favorite EE Cummings poem is "Anyone Lived In A Pretty How Town". We had to analyze it in one of the english classes I took in High School. I'm not much for analysis of poetry, I like poetry, at least modern poetry, for the sound of it.

I love that one, too. A great Halloween poem of his is "hist whist"--so cute and clever.
and "I like my body when it is with your body" (eyes big love-crumbs----a great line!)
and "She being Brand-new;" Great, great stuff. I've lately forgotten about ee and I'm glad to be reminded.

Here is my very most favorite snake poem in the entire world. Eat your heart out, Mystic:

Snake
by D.H. Lawrence


A snake came to my water-trough
On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,
To drink there.
In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob-tree
I came down the steps with my pitcher
And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough before
me.

He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of
the stone trough
And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
He sipped with his straight mouth,
Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
Silently.

Someone was before me at my water-trough,
And I, like a second comer, waiting.

He lifted his head from his drinking, as cattle do,
And looked at me vaguely, as drinking cattle do,
And flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips, and mused a moment,
And stooped and drank a little more,
Being earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels of the earth
On the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.
The voice of my education said to me
He must be killed,
For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous.

And voices in me said, If you were a man
You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.

But must I confess how I liked him,
How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my water-trough
And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,
Into the burning bowels of this earth?

Was it cowardice, that I dared not kill him? Was it perversity, that I longed to talk to him? Was it humility, to feel so honoured?
I felt so honoured.

And yet those voices:
If you were not afraid, you would kill him!

And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid, But even so, honoured still more
That he should seek my hospitality
From out the dark door of the secret earth.

He drank enough
And lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,
And flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,
Seeming to lick his lips,
And looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,
And slowly turned his head,
And slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,
Proceeded to draw his slow length curving round
And climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.

And as he put his head into that dreadful hole,
And as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders, and entered farther,
A sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing into that horrid black hole,
Deliberately going into the blackness, and slowly drawing himself after,
Overcame me now his back was turned.

I looked round, I put down my pitcher,
I picked up a clumsy log
And threw it at the water-trough with a clatter.

I think it did not hit him,
But suddenly that part of him that was left behind convulsed in undignified haste.
Writhed like lightning, and was gone
Into the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,
At which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination.

And immediately I regretted it.
I thought how paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act!
I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.

And I thought of the albatross
And I wished he would come back, my snake.

For he seemed to me again like a king,
Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,
Now due to be crowned again.

And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords
Of life.
And I have something to expiate:
A pettiness.Taormina, 1923

I don't read poems that are longer than my arm.

too bad

Thanks, that was beautiful.