11 July 2012



Our kind seems headed
Toward an unprecedented cataclysm,
And in the grand schema of things, does it really matter?
Each of us answers that eternal question in the way we carry out our daily lives,
But it's synergistically that the dice are cast and futures told.
So down the fated river we bob and weave,
All alone, all together,
Players in the history of mind.

* * * *
Humanity is a species fixated on the past,
On history, tradition, ritual, formula, this concept or that.
How challenging it is to view the streaming moment with fresh, clear eyes.
Our narcissistic vision is veiled by all we think we know,
We are blind to the mystery of Eden.

* * * *
Discerning the nature of truth
Is not about comfort.
It not about pleasure diluting pain.
It is merely the essential point of eternal singularity
From which all creation springs, and to which all creation succumbs.
Far too simple for all the thoughts spinning ever again
To decisively grasp the inexplicable.

* * * *
All purpose, all meaning,
Is the fabrication of consciousness.
The nothingness from which all things spring
Is indivisibly absolute, with neither cause nor direction.
How can there be any permanence in manifest time and space,
In that which is no more than a sensory figment of temporal imagination?

* * * *
To declare yourself either believer or atheist,
Implies that you somehow know something to be true
In the ultimate who, what, where, when, why, how conundrum.
Something that in reality cannot be known by anyone, anywhere, anytime.
Belief, faith, and hope are useless, delusional security blankets,
Vain pacifiers of the mind’s fear of the unknown.
An agnostic vision is the only truthful, accurate stance.
Even Self does not know how this amazing mystery came to be.
The nowness that is, has ever been, will ever be, is all any can truly know.