somewhere in the astral arena, in order to
get there, I would have to travel alone
through several dark and dank streets. In the
deepest of ghettoes, I felt no fear, only
expectation in seeing the monk.
Up ahead, a worldly man, still
trapped within the defilement of his own
ways, was watching me; angry that I'd
emerged from the prison of vice that still
held his soul. Glaring at me as I turned
away, I conveyed, "You have no hold on my
soul, your bondage is your own."
Arriving at the place where the monk
was to be, many souls were engaging in
frivolous speech, talking endlessly. Sitting
quietly across the room, I watched the serene
and peaceful monk as he said nothing.
Walking over to where I waited, he sat down
next to me.
Conveying silently, he said, "I am
impressed with your state of mindfulness."
Placing his hand on mine, I gave a glance of
thanks.
"Craving steadily grows in the mortal
whose mind is agitated by (evil) thoughts,
who is full of strong passions and ever
yearning for what is pleasant. Such a one
makes his fetters strong."
brent
(Brent)
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