14 August 2012

Thirty

30


The rutted mind cannot be made anew again.
The neuron grooves become too deep, too profoundly anchored
In geography, culture, creed, language, sexuality, all the shaping of time’s meandering.
No different than an ancient, weathered, craggy boulder,
A block fully carved unto its end.

* * * *
And stardust somehow came into existence.
It could never more than speculate out how it all came to be,
But rather than be happy and content not knowing,
It managed to argue, struggle and battle
Over everything imaginable
Forever more.

* * * *
Awareness, the underlying formless.

* * * *
To have a reasonably civilized,
Perhaps even happy life,
All one needs to do
Is moderate the passions,
Discipline the mind and body,
Gather in whatever needs to be known,
And live the life that calls to you.
What is so hard about that?

* * * *
The quantum mystery is you, and you are it.
You witness it, and it witnesses you.
You meditate upon its infinity,
And it upon your temporal limitation.
How could the indelible indivisibility be else?

* * * *
Dogma is for those humble enough to faithfully believe
They are the only ones worthy of some deity’s blessing.

* * * *
Perhaps humankind will some day awaken when all its memes,
All its idolatries, all its imagined deities, have failed them one too many times.
But, then again, probably not, given that the monkey-mind genome
Is so easily compromised by every sort of delusion.