The Master

Dreaming is the realm of children;  sleep, the realm of the restless.

Work is the domain of the poor in virtue and rich in depravity.

Look at the one who sits idly. Doing nothing, he is called Guided by Form.

He who is called Guided by Form fashions his robe from vine and leaves cotton to the weevils.

A tree trunk who has found itself uprooted becomes his bed and takes delight in its new form.

Pleasures are no longer his and are given back to the children, yet the day is wasted not in laziness but in constant activity.

Filtered sun through canopy leaves warm bare skin and stream water cools the feet; and men of renown are want of comfort!

Fathers tell sons to scorn him, saying the matters are men are serious; yet they suffer, die, and are buried in their folly.

Was it not written that the realm of God is to hide and the realm of Kings to seek, and yet you disregard play?

When you raise your voice, he is calm; when you entreat him softly, he is harsh.

When the simple question is asked to him, he gives the complex answer; when the complex question is asked to him, he gives the simple answer.

He carves out from your nothing his something.

From your instability, he fashions his stability.

Your Gods are rendered evil and your devils praised for their ingenuity and valor.

Yet when you search for him...

...he cannot be found.

When the search is stopped,

he appears.