09 September 2013

Seventy-Six


76


Until that last wheezing breath,
You will have the opportunity to play out,
With whatever courage you have the capacity to muster,
The worldly fate for which you were born, and perhaps, just perhaps,
Even find more than a smidgen of contentment before its most certain mortal conclusion.

* * * *
Why even for a moment think
About struggling to be like everyone else?
To constantly try to blend in with any groupthink,
Kowtow to any tradition, imitate any mindset, abide any meme,
What complete and utter absurdity to wallow in the quagmire of herd instinct.

* * * *
The ultimate essential nature is exactly the same within all creation,
And consciousness in any form is merely waves crashing
Upon the shores of infinity’s grand theater.

* * * *
Get over what you believe others think about you.
Relatively few even know of your existence,
Much less ponder or care about you.
Ceaseless internal projection
Is just the deep, insatiable insecurity,
Born long ago in the jungle of the tribal mind.

* * * *
What siren-like enticement it is to believe memories
Any more than dead things, when the only thing that is,
Is this very ungraspable moment of still, timeless awareness.
You were not … you are not … you need not care …
About the dreamtime in which mind dwells.

* * * *
Sooner or later the given existence will reach its termination, as all dreams do.
May as well dance as well as you can for as long as the cadaver is able.
What any of us may endure as we head into our endgame
Is a choiceless reckoning that all must face alone.
To cast off before your time may or may not be an option,
Depending on disposition, opportunity, or sense of obligation to others.
Not easy to let go of existence when you have spent so much of it struggling to survive.
Yet, what point is there in allowing this three-dimensional reverie to meander into some nightmare?
What obligation does anyone have to live out a dream for which they did not ask?