One should not imagine oneself to be one with the eye or
independent of it or the owner of it.
The same with ear and all the other senses, including the mind.
Nor should one imagine oneself to be identical with the world or
contained...
continue...
Mounting the bull, slowly I return homeward.
The voice of my flute intones through the evening.
Measuring with hand-beats the pulsating harmony, I direct the endless rhythm.
Whoever hears this melody will join me.
Comment: This struggle is over; gain and loss are assimilated. I sing the song of the village woodsman, and play the tunes of the children. Astride the bull, I observe the clouds above. Onward I go, no matter who may wish to call me back.