Who decides to smile?
Can you catch the smiler out before she smiles?
Who decides to laugh?
Can you catch the laugher out before she laughs?
Who decides to feel?
Can you catch the pain before it reaches you?
Where is the sorrow?
Where is the frustration?
And how is joy born?
Did they sprout inside of you?
Or did they hang in the air, waiting for your grasping hand?
Who paints the colours of emotion?
Who sculpts the work of feeling?
Is it you?
Are you the artist, the architect, the sculptor?
Or are you merely the observer?
A visitor to the beautiful and hideous, immersive but impermanent halls in this vast gallery of life?
The paintings are not yours; do not own them.
The play is not reality; do not get lost in it.
You are the viewer, not the artist.
You are the audience, not the actor.
Float through these ever-changing halls of emotion
And know,
You are a visitor.
The door is open, and you can leave anytime you want.
Woes of a Second-Level Wuddhist 