"I love Siddhartha Gautama, Jesus of Nazareth, and Confucius too, but
mostly who I love is, I mostly love Lao Tzu, because out of him rises
two thousand years of sweet melancholy and desire for this life, this
place, our flesh, the now—the suckling babe, a steaming bowl of rice,
stir-fried vegetables, the lone goose as she flies across the river of the
stars, mists on mountains, a poached fish, the cedar waxwing in the
piney boughs, a lone fisherman in a boat on a pond . . .
and the last, sad
bloom of autumn, the chrysanthemum. Oh, I love Siddartha Gautama,
Jesus of Nazareth, and Conucious too, but mostly, mostly who I love is
the ancient, earthbound, sensuous Lao Tzu."