Mind. Ideas coming and going, arising and falling, all notions, critiques, judgements, dogma. This passive inwardness in passing, only short undefined stays. In concepts, no straying from form, only deliberating and deriving from, this eternal influx, mind. This dogmatic temple explains itself, concentrating on itself, it defaces itself, creates itself in retrospect. All these passing feelings, passive in their impermanence, no angelical hatred or devilish love, and these heavenly concepts need no mere mortal to decipher. My being apparant, no guilt, no wrong doings by this dogma, still I state my state of no guilt. Flooding, gestures laid out in my mind of a personal negation, hell this unsure, uneasy step into dogmatic insanity, heaven then must be the same. This expanse of world, so secular, and so ordained beyond any humanly measure, must one be a kami or a minor god or bodhisattva in order to write philosophy to it’s highest degree? Within the mirror, a fiendish demon picks up the pen and fills these pages with more empty pages, and my reflection is a prime example. This world, all Buddhas interacting round the devilish I, subject, object to my attention, can decipher only benefits and dangers, accepting samsara into view, writes samsara into focus, conjoins samsara to the suffering that is and will be. This personal negation, the presumed and assumed guilt that makes one stay guilty though it be shown clear that they are innocent. How pretentious, carrying more doubts just to lay them out simultaneously. The real, the minds dogma, the minds righteousness, all things co-dependent, the analysis of truth behind the mind, arises with the mind and its stay on it, falls with the mind and its stay on it, through no determining of any sentient qualities. This notion universal, this expanse of world blisters and welts in holy puss called lava and all nearbye villagers tremble with co-arising, wondering what it is like to be in real danger. This dogmatic temple only spiritualizes it at this expanse of world. And everyone ties down the shutters when the world has a cold.