4
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.
