Brother, in this fleeting dream of samsara, oil rises and oil falls. nothing is permanent.

The Wise man smiles because he understands: even happiness is just another volatile contract.

Do not grasp the surge.

Do not fear the war.

Trade lightly, like a monk walking across a burning bridge made of macaroni.

When the moon of 1689 looks down with its ancient, engraved face, it whispers the only truth worth knowing: ‘Everything is already priced in… and none of it matters.’