01 October 2012

Forty-Five


45


There is tabula rasa, an uncarved block, an unrippled soul, within,
But the imaginary, make-believe you, formed of consciousness,
Must become very still, very quiet, for its awareness to reign.

* * * *
All creatures great and small are ultimately equal.
Pedestals and hierarchies only generate inequity.
We are all the same clay making different play.

* * * *
Break away from the security of the herd
If you truly wish to be free of all claims.

* * * *
We attach concepts to sounds.
Sounds imprison, sounds free.

* * * *
Ignorance has a tendency
To move much farther, much faster,
Than anything close to truth.

* * * *
No matter the worldly speck of universe
In which you abide, explore, play, endure,
The essential source is forever the same.

* * * *
What is the word “love” but a sound,
A sentimental concept, a neurological condition,
An exclusively temporal human fabrication
Projected upon an indifferent universe.

* * * *
If you are told there is an avalanche headed your way,
Is that negativity, or a warning to get off the mountain?

* * * *
Another story.
Stories, stories, stories.
All filled with the same this, the same that.
And what have we really created in our dreamtime ascendancy
But unprecedented vanity and pathos.