Shades of the Prison House

wu hsin


From the Lost Writings of Wu Hsin

Do not deem
Wu Hsin to be insane
Simply because you cannot hear
The music he dances to.
Man is the one who is insane:
His solution to his
Need for security is to
Lock himself away in a prison.
What could be more secure than
A prison?
He passes his time
In a solitary cell labeled “me”.
Believing he is now safe and that
No other can harm him,
He has exchanged freedom
For security.
What is outside
The walls of the prison is the unknown,
Possibly not secure,
Not safe,
Alien, at times hostile, and
Not at all predictable.
Yet what sane man would choose
Prison over freedom?
Man is the one who is insane:
He trades the experience of life,
Here and now,
For time and attention spent
On regretting the past,
Wishing for a better past and
Hoping for a brighter future,
For a future that will right
What is now deemed not right.The laughter of a child,
The blueness of the sky,
All sacrificed on the altar of
Mental preoccupations.
What a waste!
Man is the one who is insane:
Yet, quite normal
Within societal boundaries.
Numerous methods may lead one to
Being more comfortable.
But that is all you get:
One who is more comfortable in their prison,
Not one freed from their prison.
Nothing gets a person out of their prison
Because the person is the prison.

These words are not directed to
Any individual,
Any personality,
Any you.
Instead they go to that
Which supports the “you”,
Sustains the “you”,
Yet is prior to it.

Wu Hsin dances a tune that is prior to the dirge of the prison house. The dreaming mind lost in transmigration imagines that it is running free on the plane of defiled aggregated existence: hoping for a brighter future on the wings of the regrettable past, laughing maniacally on the sacrificial altar of all that preoccupies it from the first waking moment to the last gurgle of the death-rattle.  All the while self-imprisoned within societal boundaries that dictate who you are and who you are to be, whilst simultaneously keeping you comatose in an illusion of security; and if you’re not doing what you’re supposed to do as prescribed by the vexatious voices of fellow-inmates imprisoned with skandhic shackles, then your death sentence is already assured. There is no escape from this diurnal incarceration because the apparent “me”, as a composition of the five skandhas, is the prison; and the warders are comprised of the self-same elements masquerading as those who gleefully hold the key to your escape and freedom. Wu Hsin’s tune holds the key. It is not directed to any “individual” camouflaged as you because the REAL YOU is prior to anything you could ever hope or imagine. The following Bodhi-Pearl pipes a song offering Right Release by revealing the Real Face behind the mask of endless re-becoming, its “true root and master…”


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