I come from a long line of day-dreamers. The kind of people who stare hard and long at just about anything, their eyes widening and narrowing, but never blinking. I've heard tell of the type of day-dreamers my ancestors were. Some known to hold an object with their eyes for days or weeks, but never months - not even my people are capable of that kind of asceticism. It is rumored that my great-grandfather once sat on a bench in a train station and fixated on a sign until it fell apart.
Our only known enemies are those-who-snap-their-fingers-at-us. Those people who like disturbing our stares and get pleasure out of breaking our commune with stillness. Those people whose snaps sound like horses' shoes on pavement - a once beautiful, rhythmic noise that now bodes for my people and me a distress unlike any other.
Who are you who joyfully kill my daydream and why do you do it and would you stop?
Your great-grandfather had some pretty fierce technique. Finger snapping has never been enough to shake me from my reveries. Now if the Chan Master had hit me with the dharma stick it might have worked.
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