The Fool

How long the night to the watchman

How long the road to the weary traveler

How long the wandering of many lives

To the fool who misses the way

If the traveler cannot find

Master or friend to go with him

Let him travel alone

Rather than with a fool for company

"My children, my wealth!"

So the fool troubles himself

But how has he children or wealth?

He is not even his own master

The fool who knows he is a fool

Is that much wiser

The fool who thinks he is wise

Is a fool indeed.

Does the spoon taste the soup?

A fool may live all his life

In the company of a master

And still miss the way

The tongue tastes the soup

If you are awake in the presence of a master

One moment will show you the way

The fool is his own enemy

The mischief is his undoing

How bitterly he suffers!

Why do what you will regret?

Why bring tears upon yourself?

Do only what you do not regret

And fill yourself with joy

For a while the fool's mischief

Tastes sweet, sweet as honey

Bit in the end it turns bitter

And how bitterly he suffers!

For months the fool may fast

Eating from the tip of a grass blade

Still he is not worth a penny

Beside the master whose food is the way

Fresh milk takes time to sour

So a fool's mischief

Takes time to catch up with him

Like the embers of a fire

It smolders within him

Whatever a fool learns

It only makes him duller

Knowledge cleaves his head

For then he wants recognition

A place before other people

A place over other people

"Let them know my work,

Let everyone look to me for direction."

Such are his desires

Such is his swelling pride

One way leads to wealth and fame

The other to the end of the way

Look not for recognition

But follow the awakened

And set yourself free