20 September 2013

Eighty-Six


86


Have you ever really existed as more than a figment of imagination?
Are you really anything more than a fleeting ghost of history past?
And what is history but a rolodex of memories quickly forgotten.

* * * *
Another sorry soul living for some future grave,
Always caught in another time, another place, another life,
Missing completely the one and only eternal now.

* * * *
From the stillness of awareness, all potentials spring,
Into the stillness of awareness, all potentials subside.

* * * *
In a room filled with adults of all ages,
Imagine them as the children they once were.
And on a playground strewn with children,
Imagine the adults they will someday be.

* * * *
Hell hath no fury like an untamed mind.

* * * *
Instinct has never been a match
For the free will born of imagination.

* * * *
It is only consciousness
That manufactures good and evil,
Right and wrong, compassion and brutality,
In an otherwise indifferent universe.

* * * *
Worship whatever, idolize whatever,
Wear whatever, label whatever, spout whatever,
Just do not believe you are superior to everyone else for it.

* * * *
Why is existing longer in the given container such a concern?
What is this dread of the end of consciousness, of the me, myself and I?
This demise that is really nothing more than another concept,
A hypothesis to which there has never been a witness.
That which was never born can never die.