Some think I'm cryptic.  I suppose that I would, too, view myself that way were I removed from myself to some cryptic distance.  For it's the distance between each and all of us, and not us,  that's cryptic.  We?  We're all just beautiful, eternity-destined, microcsomic mysteries yearning for greater participations.  "...movers and shakers on whom the pale moon gleams."

The man of Tao remains unknown. Perfect virtue produces nothing. "No-Self" is "True-Self."  And the greatest man is Nobody   - Chuang Tzu, the master, most cryptically-distanced deer-whisperer there ever was.

And sometimes it is time for non-action.

Merry Christmas.