The Vagabond Swordsman.

Puny human intellects, playing their infantile games of conceptual thought, argue and pontificate , create histories, dogmas, philosophies, sciences : all dust on the wind, foam on the waves.
Who will name the nameless, shape the formless, pin down the timeless?
As well try to devour the sun or swallow the oceans!

Can words describe that which is beyond all description?
 Can intellect measure the infinite nothingness of no-mind?
A vagabond in ragged clothes laughs in the face of the storm.
 He has nothing, does nothing, says nothing - but he is everything.
He dwells in silence...and the razor-edged sword of his poise cuts through 200,000 years of human knowledge like a knife through butter!

Surrender - the joy of letting go.

Creation's greatest paradox: in order to LIVE fully and totally, you must learn how to die before your body dies!
Sweet surrender! The joy of letting it all go...falling like a stone into the unknown, with no fear or hesitation.
What are you clinging to anyway? A bag of garbage - concepts and memories and shapes of light and shadow, ghosts of a non-existent past.
What are you trying to protect and preserve, with such great desperation? A soap-bubble floating briefly on the air.
Lay your neck gladly on the block and let Her sharp sword cut off your head.
Be the drop that falls willingly into the ocean, dissolving its individuality in the vastness.
Leap without hesitation into the abyss, with total trust.
That's all it takes to surrender.
And inherit infinity.
No words can describe the taste of that freedom!