25 July 2012



The body is the sanctuary, the temple, the portal in which awareness resides.
It is ever-changing, replete with every sort of irregularity, and fated to one day dissolve.
But for a relatively brief perception of time, always within the unednding moment,
There is the opportunity for the temporal consciousness, the dream weaver,
To play out whatever capacity and limitation and inclination allow.

* * * *
What can true wealth really ever be but a quality of mind,
And so many, with piles and piles of gold, so very poor.

* * * *
The mind-body is but a transitory dwelling, chaff,
From which the kernel drops into the ground,
From which the drop returns to the ocean,
From which the self merges into soul,
From which the persona dissolves
Into that which is timelessly absolute.

* * * *
To love thy Self is not some vain notion.
It is to discern your true essence
At such a profound level
As to expand into your splendor
In whatever way consciousness allows.

* * * *
Awareness is prior to all things
Born of thought, born of passion, born of time.
All naming is ultimately meaningless.
Even the greatest song of god
Is fated to be forgotten.

* * * *
This manifest universe
Can be nothing more than a reverie
Because its makeshift foundation is quantum sand.
All dreams are marinated in vanity.

* * * *
Still searching here, there, everywhere,
For something that really, really, really matters,
When over and over it is again and again more than obvious
That nothing really does, nothing really ever has, nothing really ever will.