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.
