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Homage to the Muses

I am desperately trying to remember an idea that I had earlier. It was so vivid, so good, that I was certain that I will remember it for years to come. A few hours later — nothing. Not a single shred of memory apart from the fact that it was good and important.  Where do our thoughts come from? Are they stored somewhere, and we just put our hands down, grab one by the neck and take it to the surface of our mind? No? Do we produce them? I guess that is the answer of most. ‘It is my thought! I built it myself’?  ‘Out of what’, I would ask. I always had the feeling that the thoughts do not belong to me. It always feels rather magical to have an idea and most of the time I don’t feel happy receiving the credit for it. I feel like a fraud, like a pretender.  People in older times were somehow humbler. They believed in the existence of the Muses, and I find this very agreeable. How wonderfully humble that idea is! I produce something, but only if I am inspired by the gods. So ‘...
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The Run-away Brain


Doesn't this look to you like a gigantic brain, irresponsibly left by its owner in the garden? It moves slowly towards the perils of the ocean. There is a small rope, most likely put there to prevent it of running away, although its presence looks purely symbolic. 

For me, this is a great metaphor for our minds. Left out there, unprotected by anything, but our meek gestures of morality, moving slowly to the perils of the ocean of our disturbing emotions. Our anger and greed, loosely tied by the rickety rope of the possibility of social exclusion, our jealousy, painted over by our pride and reluctance to be seen by others as weak, are the only fences. 
That pretence does not protect our mind but we chose to believe that it will. Putting around it the strong chains of moral discipline and mindfulness takes a lot of effort. Most people will just say, 'Let it run free!'.
Our mind, that boulder, will not cause any damage to the ocean, of course, but when it comes tumbling down, it will break into pieces, crushing and dragging everything in its way.




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  1. Anonymous31 March 2023 at 09:16

    Thank goodness for our lamas, and the dharma that teaches — in its own timeless way — humility, devotion and care, to the rock in that poem, so that it can turn back into sand then merge with the sea. Perhaps only another few million lifetimes 🙏🏽

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    1. Anonymous31 March 2023 at 17:09

      Indeed! But that is another story…

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