Sit-a-Long with Taigu: The Ten Oxherding Pictures (IX)
“Riding the bull home… As one mounts the bull, rides the bull, the world and practice itself are not experienced as obstacles anymore. The bull as an object to grasp, a goal to reach has disappeared. Practice and self are intimate. In this, carefree-ness, detachment, joy arise from the silence space of sitting. The boy is not worried anymore about where he should go, where the bull takes him to, what the Bull-boy will become. As the comment sates: this struggle is over; gain and loss are assimilated. The song of the flute is played by ten thousand things met and released. Forms and sounds play and are played. This dance is nothing but the Bodhisattva stepping into the world, freely playing with what comes and goes, fully interacting with things and beings without being caught by any…”
"Bulls on Parade" (Rage Against the Machine)
His microphone explodes, shatterin' the molds
Either drop the hits like De la O or get the [fudge] off
The commode, with that sure shot, sure ta make
The bodies drop, drop and don't copy yo don't call
This a co-opt, terror reigns, drenching, quenchin'
The thirst of power dons that five sided fist-a-gon
Tha rotten sore on the facade of mother gets
Bigger the trigger's cold, empty your purse
Rally around the family
with a pocket full of shells
They rally round the family
with a pocket full of shells
Weapons not home not food not shoes not need
Just feed tha war cannibal animal I walk the corner to
The rubble that used to be a library, line up to the
Mind's cemetery now what we don't know keeps
The contract's alive and movin, they don't gotta
Burn the books, they just remove while arms
Warehouses fill as quick as the cell
Come wit it now. BULLS ON PARADE!