I came across Paul Ziff’s book titled Understanding Understanding, which was so inspiring that it expelled from me, or rather, it compelled my fingers to type two poems, both by the name “Understanding”:
Understanding Understanding by Paul Ziff.
Understanding Understanding Understanding Understanding Understanding Understanding by Paul Ziff
By Paul ZIff. Understanding Understranding Understanding by
By Ainsley Sebastien Sawyer and Montgomery Evelyn Bullingsworth
Stand with a string attached to your crown
And a stick up your butt
And read Ziff’s Understanding Understanding
(unwitfully put ‘Understanding An Understanding,’
But we can’t have that)– so Understand Understanding Understanding–
And Write Understanding Understanding Understanding
Or rather title it Understanding Understanding
As to what this means, it’s inconceivable– too meta.
But at least
Understand this stand for Understanding Understanding
Understanding Understanding and so on and so forth.
Lord of the Great Way, let me write what may seem contrived, clauses pinned with awkward rhymes, and inspire others to their own precious poesy; and also to some new, unkempt lines–call them yellow and dashed, literally not literary, and rolling metal oncoming-passed, actually but automotively, for in essence, isn’t a truck driver a sage, turning her wheels only to the wage. Thus, the Way is to get paid, the ears to drown out the paved, and the eyes always to gaze at the roads no different from ten miles ago, though I concede the trucker’s eyes may be strained as the summer sets that even the doctor would prescribe 40 pills of Percocet.
These musings are the pain-killed poetic and taoist fusing, so I hope my fun of writing this transfers to you an equal amusing.
Lord Tao, I pray that my intent I do not betray, as I muse full heartedly and act as a vessel through which your inspiration can be beheld. To take Zhuangzi’s notion, I once dreamed and like reality it seemed. Of course, I knew it was but the breath of Lord Tao that inspired false reality at the time; and whoever thinks that their dream was real and sublime, I give to her this pity of mine, or even better, a prayer to Tao’s shrine. But this means that I give pity and prayers to myself since I was unaware of the danger that dwells within dreams’ nature. What do I mean? Like Zhuangzi, I had witnessed a dream confused, which now leads me to this contrived muse, but to think it was thus in memory, when it was actually false reality, makes me the greater fool if one can be. The line between what I did in dreaming and what I had yet to do led me into fallacy. When I think back to such deception, it reminds me of the time when Sinon brought all of Troy utterly to sorrow. I remember it like I remember all of tomorrow. So take heed and beware of such treachery by your dreams.
Think hard on whether you liked this post or considered following Taopracticed, as a dream could very well make it seem thus, but not really thus.
Mister Tao, grant me the Good Will, my duties being nothing but to wander over the Ecuadorian hills. A recession from civil life, urbane life, is what I am pondering, and naturally, the question is what will I be squandering. Perhaps some dark chocolate and a nickel, and if this be the lost, my reasons best not be fickle. Yet my reason is my duty, to be a hermit, so the life I lead unduly ought to change so that nature and I may harmonize truly. This is hermitage from hermeneutics, homelessness by Zhuangzi. This is me leaving for one of the five sacred Taoist mountains, and without knowing any Chinese, finding my way to the hermit’s wisdom-spouting fountain. This sole duty of mine I must fulfill, lest, the Tao forbid, society traps me and takes my Good Will.
A sorely deliberate pace is all I can muster, reader, but the next musing of Tao Practiced will be smoothed to a luster.