09 November 2012

Fifty-Eight


58


All concepts are merely concepts, no matter how noble or corrupt.
They morph, they dissipate, they are all nothing more
Than brief, transitory, imaginary whims.

* * * *
By the time you recognize and react to any given memory,
Awareness has already moved on to the next,
And the many nexts beyond that.
And on and on,
An eternal, immortal sprite
You can never touch, never catch, only be.

* * * *
Sometimes it is heaven, sometimes it is hell.
Consciousness is flip-flop like that.
Awareness doesn’t care.

* * * *
That which is godness is within
To whatever degree you feel called
To discern the infinity beyond all pales.

* * * *
We are all given different destinies
Through which we may discern
The truth of our common essence,
If we leverage the mettle and veracity.

* * * *
Once all memories have dissolved,
Will anything have ever really happened?
All history is but a fleeting game of make-believe.

* * * *
It seems more than a little curious,
That so many would choose dogma and idolatry
Over the infinite treasure in all things, in all places, in all times.

* * * *
It is suffering that compels us to scrutinize our universes more closely.
We were all immortal before the manifest dream inspired us to doubt otherwise.
What a master teacher, pain, in all its ever-changing ways and means,
For as long as its lessons can be endured, and survived.