How Deep Are My Roots?

Down, down, down, deep into the earth and beyond, never stopping further than my imagination can take me. My dad, his dad, his dad, his dad, his dad, until I see no dads! And then further again, no dads, no dads, no dads, no dads, until nothing arises out of me.

I cling to my roots, I cling to my past, these very roots, hold me firm. I am good at this like my dad, I am bad at this like his dad, my hair is white like his dad, and and my eyes are blue like his dad. And so it goes, back and back until at last, I am the essence of NO dads, and nothing arises out of me.

It takes courage to cut my roots so deeply for freedom to arise. Free from the field of comfort and delusion where my dads of past love to lie. The sword cuts the axe chops the roots finally sever and into nothingness I disappear and no trace is left of me. And there it is the field beyond where the face of NO dads appear; nothing arises, no roots, no self, just free to roam in infinite possibility.