Autumn comes, suddenly hearing the night rain fill the air, Lying on the couch, in a riot of colors, picking up the sound of thoughts. Black hair enters dreams, obsessed with white hair, Eyebrows lightly twitch, the dream comes true.
Embrace simplicity and retain deficiency, the Tao utilizes its weakness.
Others weigh others' intentions; I simply live my own freedom. If there is a companion gentle as jade, we sip poetry and wine lightly, without arrogance.
Consensus is not evenly distributed, yet it is broadly balanced.
Power is the curvature of consensus slices.
Existence is not "what it is," but a continuous process of construction through tiny shifts from divergence to consensus and back again.
Divergence is really the pull that decides which way consensus extends.
Divergence is the unactualized reality, the available margin in the Ground of Possibility—still unlocked, still pulling against itself within consensus.
Power is never neutral; it is a biased force of entanglement. When divergence arises, power manifests as the capacity to forcibly converge possibilities.
Process is completeness; tolerance for error is freedom.