The Frantic Wolf

The Path is not defined by result; it is defined by effort. But correct effort, not blind effort. Inside of you there is desire. Desire to attain, to complete, to mark progress, to be the victor. The Path does not require this of you. You require this of yourself. The Path does not care if you win or are victorious. It exists outside of your concepts of victory.

There are walls. Walls inside of you, walls that the world imposes. You often do not see the wall, let alone examine it. Or you see it and attempt to scale it before you have examined it for its flaws. Everything has flaws. What do you do when you cannot see them? You try harder.

But harder does not produce progress. Preparation does. See the task. Turn it over in your mind. Slowly and in solitude. This is how you prepare.

80 percent of the time train at 60 percent effort. The frantic wolf does not find food. Anxiety lives in lack of preparation. Slow down and see what you are doing while you are doing it. Then take that and look at it again. Slowly and in solitude. Then return. Attempt again. Less anxious. Less frantic. With control. With confidence.

This does not ensure victory. But it does ensure progress. Progress that continues.

That is the Path.

Two or Three Days

They know not what they know, nor what they need. I see this clearly. It is not mine to own, to hold, or to sanctify. It is just what there is to see. Who am I to think I know the depth of this more than anyone else? I am not omniscient. I am one person like everyone else. Still on the Path, because without it there is nothing else.

Last night we talked about suffering. I revealed something of my pain — that without the lessons of the Path, I would not be here. It was not a dramatic statement, yet it felt like one. I do not know what I am doing. I am no leader. None of that matters.

Circles and straight lines. Fear hidden in ego. The removal of all that is unnecessary. Desire. Striving. This climb. I see it. All the wanting and needing, the effort, the searching.

One student asked how long it takes me to see what someone is about — what they need, who they are. What you are is on your face. What you need is on your face, in your eyes. I see it because I once had it.

It is all there, written out. Your breathing and movement. The way your eyes drift. How your feet touch the floor. Your stance. The nape of your neck. The calculation, or the lack of it.

One glance I have an idea. One class it is plain. Two or three days, I write a book.

How long does it take to see yourself?