Chronicles of the Buddha
Show me what is real, said the man, dressed in a velvet robe. Show me the present, convince me of its existence. The man was greatly amused to be presented with such an easy question. He explained the now. He told of change, and of the future as well as the misty past. He said that what lied between, the very instant of reality, was the Now. The robed man sighed and stepped forward.
Friend, he said, you described the past and you described the future, without seeing the glorious connection. No no, my friend.
The robed man brought forth a green apple.
Behold, he said, an apple. Imagine now, friend; this apple is the past and now (he took a bite and held forth the deformed fruit) it is the future. Or rather, it was the now and it will become the now. See friend, the Present is less than zero, a state of nothing within the wheel of time.
He let the apple fall to the ground.
And now, this apple shall nurture some animal, and that animal's soil shall produce a new apple. All is part of the great cogs of the grand wheel. No escape, just a small figment of a great constant. The robed man disappeared, and the world fell apart. At last.
For how long must I hold on? How long til the battle is won, at last? How many more signs; how many more bad omens? I wonder, when will I oppose the opressors. When will I stand up to the very deity that has wronged me? Ah to hell with it. I bare being like this no longer. You disgust me. dea infernalia
adieu
Friend, he said, you described the past and you described the future, without seeing the glorious connection. No no, my friend.
The robed man brought forth a green apple.
Behold, he said, an apple. Imagine now, friend; this apple is the past and now (he took a bite and held forth the deformed fruit) it is the future. Or rather, it was the now and it will become the now. See friend, the Present is less than zero, a state of nothing within the wheel of time.
He let the apple fall to the ground.
And now, this apple shall nurture some animal, and that animal's soil shall produce a new apple. All is part of the great cogs of the grand wheel. No escape, just a small figment of a great constant. The robed man disappeared, and the world fell apart. At last.
For how long must I hold on? How long til the battle is won, at last? How many more signs; how many more bad omens? I wonder, when will I oppose the opressors. When will I stand up to the very deity that has wronged me? Ah to hell with it. I bare being like this no longer. You disgust me. dea infernalia
adieu
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