28 August 2012

Thirty-Two


32


A sensory theater, nothing more, nothing less.
Everything is founded on one assumption or another.
Still the mind and the whole universe dissolves into nothing.

* * * *
Far more balanced to take all transcendent metaphors figuratively.
Literal interpretations all too often miss the point and purpose entirely,
And leave in their wake endless absurdity and horror, suffering of every sort.

* * * *
Inhale … exhale … inhale … exhale …
Each breath streaming without break into the next.
Eternal, absolute, indivisible, complete, essential, every moment,
From the dawn of worldly impermanence
To its most certain end.

* * * *
Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, eons,
What are they but constructs of consciousness,
Ensnared in its own imaginary net.

* * * *
Neither forward nor backward, toward nor away,
Space-time is but a flickering of imagination,
Born of the eternal now, forever unknown.

* * * *
In the end, it shall be as it was in the beginning,
All middles, and befores, afters, and durings, too.

* * * *
What does anyone fear but their own imagination?

* * * *
There is nothing to which to worship or plead, really.
Here you are, the indivisible, trapped in a body, all alone,
Dreaming out the unfolding collusion of the human paradigm.
All religion is founded upon the ignorance of this fundamental fact.

* * * *
So many experiences, so much history, so much knowledge, so much blather.
Nothing more than the filter of imagination given daily reality,
Cloaking the ever-present now from its Self.