The Bodhisattva of Madness
The Bodhisattva of Madness
He does not want to hurt people.
He wants to set them free.
Not in the way the system promises—
through laws, slogans, or the illusion of safety—
but truly free.
From fear. From hierarchy. From the invisible hands that crush the soul.
He burns money because it shackles.
He mocks power because it manipulates.
He dances with death because he already died the day he was born into a world of lies.
He has no name,
because he has torn it off like a mask.
He has no face,
because identity itself is a prison.
He has no past, no claim, no record—
only the present moment,
lit by flame and shadow,
etched by laughter and pain.
In that sense,
he is not insane.
He is free.
Rejectionist Buddhism:
His Dharma
Some seek awakening through silence.
Others through stillness.
But he walks a path of eruption—
not to destroy truth, but to expose it.
He knows the system cannot be reformed.
It must be revealed and removed.
It thrives on illusion—
of order, of control, of righteousness.
Even of “heroes.”
So he becomes the mirror,
the flame,
the grin that makes the world flinch.
Each act is not madness,
but a koan—
a violent riddle meant to break your trance.
He does not preach.
He performs.
And through the performance,
he teaches.
Where Buddhism whispers:
All is illusion. Let go and awaken.
He replies:
All is a joke. Laugh, and be free.
And laughter—true laughter—is what happens
when you stop pretending.
The Trickster as Liberator
He is a sacred fool.
A trickster not of mischief, but of mercy.
Mercy so deep it looks like cruelty,
because we are so entangled in lies
that truth feels like violence.
He forces others to confront the masks they wear—
the titles, the roles, the comforting delusions.
The righteous must face their own vanity.
The system must face its own corruption.
The people must face the truth:
that no one is coming to save them,
and the ones who claim they will
usually stand upon their backs.
He does not offer salvation.
Only the match,
the mirror,
and the laugh.
Compassion Without Permission
He does love the people.
That is why he breaks them—
because what they have become is not who they are.
He has seen their eyes dulled by control,
their joy reduced to consumption,
their innocence bought and sold.
He refuses to smile at their suffering and call it “order.”
He refuses to play the game and call it “justice.”
He refuses to bow.
Instead, he offers them the only gift he has left:
Freedom,
even if it hurts.
In the Modern World
This world,
so addicted to approval, control, performance—
has no place for him.
So he becomes its shadow,
its sickness,
its reflection in broken glass.
But to those who have suffered,
to those who feel the lie,
to those who cannot breathe beneath the weight of pretending—
he becomes something else.
Not a savior.
Not a guide.
A signal.
That you are not alone in your madness.
That your scream is not wrong.
That there is still one among us
who would rather see the world burn
than watch you suffer quietly in chains.
The Deeper Teaching
His path is not for all.
It may not even be the right path.
But it is a path.
A rejection of illusion so complete
that even “sanity” is not sacred.
And hidden beneath the ashes,
behind the grin,
inside the laugh,
there is this teaching:
If you see through the lie,
do not become it.
If you awaken in a world of madness,
do not serve the dreamers.
And if the system was built to break you,
then perhaps breaking the system
is the first act of true love.
