24 September 2013



When the mind is still, where is the yearning for continuity?
Where is the notion of duality that harbors passion?
Where is the player, the actor, the identity?
Where is the witness woven of time?
What is there but the awareness of emptiness?
What is there but that birthless-deathless creation of all?
What is there but eternal life, eternal oblivion, eternal redemption?

* * * *
Every seer taps into the unknown
With a filtered, incomplete frame of reference,
And thus dogma and its seemingly countless mischiefs take root.
Ever a cautionary tale.

* * * *
You are only male or female
While there is identification with the given body.
Awareness is without attributes.

* * * *
How absurdly transfixed and bemused
The multitudes are with one lie or another.
So much struggle and ado for nothing.

* * * *
Humankind projects its ceaseless conceit
Upon an infinite mystery indifferent to its existence.
What is called death, that state so many fear in so many ways,
Is merely evaporation into the impersonal reality,
The oblivion of the ultimate nature.

* * * *
Complete and utter stillness
Is the serenity in which all things great and small
Play out their personal dreams in an infinite, indivisible, holographic matrix.
A universe in which creator and creation are one in the same.

* * * *
God as projected by the dogmatic mind is patently, woefully absurd.
That which is eternally omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient
Cannot be confined in any way, any shape, any form.
The mystery is ever unknown, ever insoluble.
All assertions are but vain speculation and hearsay.