The sacred texts, however quaint, dated and backward may
seem, are the only way to heal yourself through the dread of waiting.
Just on the carpet, a bottle of cold water at one side, the
fragrance of a burning incense stick on the other. Of course, right in the
middle, sitting front of your lap- the sacred texts.
Your eyes are completely fixed, absolute dissolving of your
gaze into the words, stanzas and proses you cannot help but recite them in a
certain manner. If you wish, you can even laugh, clap or let the teras dry yp
on your cheeks.
Until the time to stop waiting comes, of course.
That is exactly the moment when the texts become
meaningless, and the act of reading it a mighty chore. You throw away the texts
like a slush of guff they are.
The question is, what do you learn from the text during the
period of waiting, and what wisdom the next person might gain from the same
texts, once they become meaningless for you.
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