The Wisdom Of Alan Twatts Poem by Alexander Shaumyan

The bullshit that can be named
Is not the eternal bullshit,
Pathless is the path,
Thoughtless is the thought,
Vague and profound
Is its practitioner.

A journey of a thousand thoughts
Begins with one shot of whiskey -
Formless is the mother
Of all the tiny funkers under
Your feet.

Look at it - it is invisible,
Touch it - it is intangible,
Smell it - it is odorless,
Taste it - it is tasteless,
Feel it - it is one big pain
In your ass.

Thought without miracle,
Confused like the clearest mud,
Just think - it is I that thinks
Or is not I at all?

Shine without luster,
Talk perpetual gibberish,
Do without doing,
Burp like a little child.

Hear one hand clapping,
Choke on the misty bone,
Laugh the laughter
Of emptiness.

It goes by a thousand names,
Some have called it
Bullshit, some have called it
Nothing at all -
It smiles like a fat Buddha,
If you see it on the road,
Kill it.

September 4,2009