There is a story in Chinese martial arts lore about “The Peaceful Warrior,” where a young apprentice asked his teacher why, if he was striving to be inwardly calm and at peace, did he need to learn the ways of a warrior.

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As a cosmic hero you cannot be defined. What defines you, refutes you. And so you reside in the Middle Gray, neither merely black nor purely white, but both and neither intermittently.

You understand the world by turning away from it. You honor the world by laughing at it. You honor authority by mocking it.

You honor your wisdom by defying it, realizing, as Carl Jung did, that, “The soul demands your folly; not your wisdom.” Your ego is a curious puppy lost in a dogpile of happy balloons. Your wisdom is the profane compost that sprouts your sacred humor.

In this state of cosmic humor you reveal to others that the way almost always leads through the brambles. Especially if one seeks authentic transformation. The path is not soft and sweet, but jagged and elusive. It is not artificially blissful but authentically painful. It is not pretend forgiving but ruthlessly absolving. But it ends (begins) in the garden.

It ends (begins) with the warrior’s heart in full flutter, his soul in high laughter, tending to a bed of roses; knowing, with absolute humility, that should violence ever present itself, violence will be put down and taught a lesson. If war should ever rear its ugly head, its head will be chopped off and seeds will be planted in the neck hole.

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If the garden should ever be threatened by forces of evil, or even force of good, those forces will be thwarted. Because the garden is life defying entropy, and the warrior in the garden is precisely the same self-similar thing.

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Deviantart by Jung Shang InkA student said to his master…Art by Sophie WilkinsKill the powerBuddha Shrine by Alan Chadwick