Nothing is permanent. As is destroyed one second, is rebuilt in the next. All is seeping to its form. Saturated, all the formless concepts that are not buildable, can peer out among and over the many things. This notion is common among gods. The want to be mortal, while all mortal creatures capable of recognizing gods among them wish for immortality or at the least, to be spared. Longevity. This is my broken buddha sculpture zen. Humans who have always been disenchanted. From their souls, god as an image, as a moral prerogative. The basis for all religion is the alienation one feels from ones own spirit, so disenchanted it becomes a universal appeal, so infected it becomes a global upheaval. All Samsara is set uneasy by this balance. If one could only see the stack of bones in every house of worship big or small, would one question every precept given with a moral connotation and point out all the flaws within this set of ethics? As every shrine I’ve ever built comes toppling down, I ask how much longer till all attachment? These karmic tests all seem to utter forth the same transcendence, has Amida grown impatient with me and now sends lesser but still just as graceful Bodhisattvas down to play tricks and test my wisdom and my practice. Kannons wrath must give way soon and should it become a little more merciful? My sword today strikes out against the virtue of impermanence and breaks at the place of impact. Have I done well in learning this lesson, when I fear the imperfect irony ?