High Times-2

“Who runs the show?” asked the man in green, with fledgling limbs. In reply, he hears noise of a strange tongue, of Betelgeuse and Irish it was a mix.

Of greater wisdom the man grew, black and white suits him fine. “Who is bad and who is good?” asked the man in black and white. In reply he hears laughter of cackling disdain. “Black I know not of young one, and neither be I acquainted with White. All I see is a twilight grey, of no man's land be I.”

Upward did rise the man on the scale of life. Of grey whiskers and greyer attire be he now. “What is my purpose?” asked the man in grey, “where does my twisted path lead?”
“Grey be the no man's land where a man's stuff be not made of purpose, of unclear knowledge be he of the grey hue. All I see is the golden path of sacrifice and asceticism.” said the hermit in reply.

Further toward the zenith did rise the man of golden heart and ascetic exterior. Of virtue be now his stuff made, of twisted paths he cares not, with a known but still unknown destination in mind, seeks he the bliss of unknown quality. “Why is everything?” asks the man of gold.
“That be not the question that us the hue-less seek, of lesser words be our question framed.”

Up or down matters not any more, suffice to say, the man progressed, of hue-less quality be his interior and exterior. Of austerity be now his path made, with hurdles of the mind preceding foremost. “What?” asked the man of colourless identity.
“Be you now close to what thou seek”, said the voice of nothing and everything, of the infinitesimal and the infinite.

Of un-followable path did the non-identity take, of everything and nothing did the non-identity learn... of bliss and violence.... of the infinite and the infinitesimal....