a sonnet for my friend fool_in_spirit
The Tao that can be seen is not the Tao,
the obvious is never what it seems;
and often, what connects the who to how
is understood only by fools in dreams.
Still, once in a great while, a glimpse is seen
of balance, as it plays behind a cloud;
the light and dark and all points in between,
the word that vanishes if said aloud.
For only in the frame of the observed
Can our defining map much of the way;
And our illusions do naught but preserve
masks between it has been and come what may.
Both in our grasp and there beyond our reach,
The Tao embraces all, and defines each.
