3.
The husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of
elevating—aloft in a fancy house—
important folks—their eye looking down, surrendering, with cowry-like riches…
breeding—like a gentleman holding a fountain pen making something happen—
civilians—like the Mín people enslaved by blinding with a dagger—
the husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of
competing—two hands clawing over a ploughshare.
The husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of
treasuring—as if as valuable as baskets of cowry-shell-riches—
solidly hard—like the dried yellow earth of Han where short-tailed birds can’t find food—
hand-picking-of-cowry-shell-riches-along-the-road,
its
transforming of cowry-shell-riches—like from a right-side-up person to an upside down person…
breeding—like a gentleman holding a fountain pen making something happen—
civilians—like the Mín people enslaved by blinding with a dagger—
the husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of
efforting—like lifting up an elephant—
thievery—spitting into a bowl as an oath among thieves.
The husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of
seeing—one big eye for a head—
that about which one can purse one’s lips like a piece of cane and puff: ‘Yup, that’s it, definitely
wanting—what’s been eroded from this ravine…’
breeding—like a gentleman holding a fountain pen making something happen—
civilians—like the Mín people enslaved by blinding with a dagger…
heart-core…
the husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of
confused anxiety where one’s tongue is like twisted threads with one remnant string hanging out.
The sun—walking across the sundial a while, stopping a while—sees indeed
this means…
the grounded sage—listening and speaking, standing connected to earth as well as the heavens,
that person
has this
governing—regulating by harnessing the river named Happy or speaking of turning oneself:
emptying—like lifted land below tiger fur…
what it holds a basket of…
heart-core…
really filling—like a building with strings of solid cowry-like riches…
what it holds a basket of…
inside—the gut, the meat belly;
being as fragile as a matching pair of decorative bows or little wings…
what it holds a basket of…
having heart-core determination and aspiration
strengthening like an insect—turning yourself as a venomous snake-like bow…
what it holds a basket of…
that bony will that comes from a skeleton framework.
The ever-present square fabric which our grown men wrap around the ‘little bird’ top knots on their heads after receiving their public courtesy-names—what we know as the timeless, whole head-cloth ‘ji’ version of
breeding—like a gentleman holding a fountain pen making something happen—
civilians—like the Mín people enslaved by blinding with a dagger:
Nothing—no one dancing with long tails flowing from their wrists—nope never, no way, nowhere, nohow Not-Being…
firing arrows from the mouth—sure;
Nothing—no one dancing with long tails flowing from their wrists—nope never, no way, nowhere, nohow Not-Being…
wanting what’s been eroded from this ravine;
breeding—like a gentleman holding a fountain pen making something happen—
that is to say, this particular grown man with a hairpin and public courtesy name…
“firing arrows from the mouth—sure” as the sun, daily…
—now this is cooking!—
the husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of
daring—lightly hitting ears on both sides of the head—
efforting—like lifting up an elephant…
—yes, that too, vagina!
efforting—like lifting up an elephant…
Nothing—no one dancing with long tails flowing from their wrists—nope never, no way, nowhere, nohow Not-Being
efforting—like lifting up an elephant;
after following this sacrificial blade-and-cauldron-like ritual example, standard, or regulation…
Nothing—no one dancing with long tails flowing from their wrists—nope never, no way, nowhere, nohow Not-Being…
the husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of
“governing—regulating by harnessing the river named Happy or speaking of turning oneself.”
The Dào of Lâozî 