Friday, July 30, 2010
The Master: Who is he, anyway?
The master does not know who he is.
He has forgotten, while discovering what he is.
Sometimes people ask if "the master" to whom I often refer, is me.
No. He is not. Although, sometimes, he might be...
Mastery is something to which I aspire.
Knowing full well, that I miss the mark more often than I hit it.
If, at moments, I am the master, the last thing I consider, is to call myself that.
The master is an attainable state.
Like the weather:
Calm, sunny, benign.
Or a cyclone, wielding unimaginable fury.
The Crow - the actual crow - after whom I pattern a part of myself, was a master.
But he did not know it.
How could he? He was only being what he was.
And we, foolish people, concerned with who we are, and how others see us:
We might do well to consider the crow: we alone, it seems, have no idea of what we are.