Old Buddha was in bad need of rebranding.
Transcending all attachment?
Finding oneness in an existence void of self?
Too complex, too commonplace.
Nothing unique in oneness, nothing special, nothing of value.
Enlightenment? It's been done.
Streamline that shit for a newer age, a sharp hook
to puncture selfish souls on. Let them dangle,
caught and strung on a line of barbs, until
they glimpse the truth as they drift, truth
that has always drifted upward
like bubbles through the greenish pond murk
they've chosen immersion in. The river keeps
and it isn't as if we haven't seen the universe.
It's as real as may be. We'll judge whatever may be realer,
once it's available for comparison. The river keeps flowing,
There's always new fish,
eggs popping open,
ready to be convinced
how unique they all are,
how simple everything is:
precisely as advertised.