I grew up in Christian fundamentalism, went to hell, came back, became a Presbyterian then a Buddhist Presbyterian, and now I'm a profane Presbyterian Zen Taoist -- not that I'm into labels or anything. Here's what I've learned so far: The more you know, the more you know you don't know.
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Some of the rooms even are hidden from ourselves. We go in search of them and, when found, can't figure out how to open them.
More Hidden Rooms
Inside an ornate tortoise shell
Candelabras burn like hell.
Inside a conch, hearing the sea,
Ménière faints from spinning debris.
Hidden rooms aren’t sane to explore,
When insides no longer have any door.
[Disposable Poem September 29, 2010]
Dr. Mike
Some rooms we can't get in, and some we can't get out.
Such is the nature of the ten thousand things.
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