21 September 2013

Ninety-Four


94


Life comes, life goes, ever-present like the wind, gone just as quickly.
What is it but an ephemeral reverie in the hourglass of time,
The sand falling sure and steady to the last grain,
The curtain falling when the show is done.
I am the Truth, the Life, the Way,
And so are you, and so is everyone else,
And so is everything else, and so is nothing else.
We are all the same essence dreaming the theater of time.
How can there be an exit to a stage that has no beginning, no end.
Even in that which is deathless, you are ever here now in formless guise.

* * * *
Regarding cheerleading for the human paradigm’s future,
We are likely well beyond the point of no return.
The game once afoot is now asunder.

* * * *
You quest that which you already are.
You desire that which you already own.
You discern that which is ever unknown.
You are you own worst imaginary enemy,
You are your own best imaginary friend,
Wonderfully, terribly, forever alone.

* * * *
No one really knows anything.
They just dress up kind of funny,
And say and do a lot strange things.

* * * *
The mind-body is both pleasure den
And torture chamber of the soul.
Naught but a neurological phenomenon
Temporarily weaving its illusion-delusion real.

* * * *
You have always been your own truth, your own law,
Whether of your own design or adopted of another’s mind.
Your dream has only ever meant whatever you imagine it means.

* * * *
The superstitious mind finds the pattern for which it is in dread looking.
The scientific one, the answer that stands apparent after discerning inquiry.