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Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Taxi Driving

July 29, 2013

Birds fly overhead, and I am the birds
A river flows below, and I am the river
And the bridge spanning it
And the motor revving, churning
And the power plant, belching smoke
I am the street vendor pushing the cart
And I am the cart
I am the slabs of raw meat laid out on display
And I am the pig, the chicken, the cow, still alive and sensing
I am the air, rushing by
And the exhaust fumes it carries
I am each passenger on the passing bus
I am also the driver
Everywhere I look, there I am
Everything I am aware of
Is aware of me back

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From → Prose

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