Just as a doorman beckons to the passer-by
Inviting him to view the naked ladies,
As a showroom displays the latest models
And a piece of cheese leads the mouse to his certain death
So this glittering bait leads us to a momentary contentment.
Denial of the manifest existence is a further blasphemy
As blasphemous as a shotgun marriage to it.
The intricacy of thought patterns
Taken as real
Are ever more subtle.
Hook, line and sinker come to mind.
Where does the poor me fit into all this?
Where can the ‘I’ take a rest?
Whose theory or practice will provide liberation from attachment?
A small voice whispers the timeless message
“There is no way out,
There is no ‘I’”
When the cupboard is completely bare
When even the dogs have given up sniffing around
A feast is laid.