Sitting. Eyes on wall.
Noticing the cracked green paint. The black ant crawling across my field of vision.
And the wall said, Watchyu lookin’ at?
I didn’t respond, just let the question be.
I would’ve painted this thing blue.
And the wall repeated, Watchyu lookin’ at?
The question hovered like a blazing shiver.
I could make out a lotus among the cracked patterns.
Then the wall bellowed, I said, watchyu lookin’…
It was then I realized it wasn’t the wall questioning. I was projecting—it was me all along.
Then Huang Po said in a pastel voice, The perceived cannot perceive.
Those four words fell like an ax.