In the 3rd Century, Taoist magicians & Buddhist "logicians of emptiness" began a debate that went on for several hundred years on whose way was the true path to enlightenment.

In the 7th Century, the scholar Hsüan Tsang made an arduous trip to India, returning to China decades later "with 657 sūtras, images, mandalas, / and fifty relics—." With translations of the founder's original sermons, the Buddhists finally won the day.

Sacred stories trace all the way down to when shadowy tales of supernatural beings began to emerge from fires flickering near the entrance to perhaps initiatory caves, silhouetting crawl spaces that opened to large picture galleries several hours after drinking the brew. I found myself awake in a world literally beyond
my wildest dreams. I met bird-headed people, as well as dragon-like creatures who explained that they were the true gods deep inside.

I am living in Pablo Picasso’s villa. He is the deceased landlord who confused his property with himself. If a faucet sprung a leak, it was because the tenant had wounded him, and it was not water but his blood that was dripping. [On the day he had heart surgery, the freezer finally defrosted.] Then I see a small stain on the diaphanous drapes near where I am dreaming.

   Picasso is pacing the room.
   His eyes are devouring everything.
   Suddenly he stops and yells at me—
   Who stained the sun?!

Today I'm wondering why moon goddess Artemis was recruited to play the hunter, instead of Mars. Don't anthropologists write that in most primal tribes the hunting was done by men?
Or was it the other way around, and men who own guns
today are psychically filling the role women originally played?