The Masters We Never Needed

Suits and ties strangle wisdom,
while corner offices cast shadows
over the simple truths
we knew as children.

See how they gather,
these merchants of complexity,
selling maps to places
we already inhabit.

“Follow me,” they cry
through megaphones and memos,
as if enlightenment requires
a premium subscription.

But look —
the dandelion breaks through concrete
without requesting permission,
without attending seminars on growth.

I have seen more dharma
in a stray cat’s independence
than in all their leadership retreats
and motivational speeches.

Their authority is origami —
paper-thin illusions
folded into impressive shapes
dissolving in the rain of awareness.

Who needs a master
when the moon still rises?
Who needs a guru
when breath comes freely?

In the space between
their important declarations,
I hear the ancient laugh
of stones and streams.

No CEO runs the forest.
No committee approves the tide.
No prophet holds patents
on the wind.

Here I sit,
unsubscribed from their gospels,
finding more truth in my empty cup
than in their overflowing words.

Let them build their hierarchies —
I’ll build nothing
and contain everything
in this moment’s perfect silence.