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May I choose freedom over form

Fate has bound it to be whole; unmoving. Its name shall be everything—every single name that mortals have invented convinced they are all true: birth and death, existence, non-existence change of place—Poem of Parmenides [40]

Form is empty. Emptiness is form And all things are the same Not this or that; not good or bad Not ugly or beautiful

For the illusion of separateness Is only a perceived absence Created by what is always present

For to give names and associations And to choose one over the other Is to dissect and discriminate the whole

What is needed of you is To practise śūnyatā To avoid the labelling of things

To see that the image of yourself Is only a flexible summary Of inflexible characterisations Useful only in placing and predicting things In an imagined schema of the age

To know that character is only The way you choose to see things And the way you choose to react

To realise that ephemeral identity Is fashioned from a swarm of Disconnected impulses, thoughts, and feelings At any given moment, birthed within its progenitor By causes of which he is totally unaware

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