05 September 2013

Sixty-Eight


68


Not everyone wants to play this silly little human game.
They are often called homeless, but some are more at home than most,
Accepting what is offered, witnessing what there is to witness, wandering as time allows,
Breathing in, breathing out, content to merely abide the dream.

* * * *
The realized state cannot be forced, it cannot persuaded.
Wisdom and insight are obviously not for all.
There is no use seeking something
For which there is not the inquiry of doubt.

* * * *
Any given body is merely the outcome of a seed,
A container to which so many become
More than a little attached,
Despite the oblivion sourcing all.

* * * *
This fleeting, ever-changing dream of time
Is just another space between the lines
In history books yet to be written.

* * * *
You only imagine yourself an actual entity.
You were not, you are not, you need not care.

* * * *
Few things are as simple as either/or,
Black or white, right or wrong, this or that.
There is usually a spectrum of convoluted grayness
To anything examined by the nuanced mind.

* * * *
Move prior to concept, to form, to struggle.
Be simple, carefree, serene, tranquil, absolute, sovereign.
For those lacking discernment, the ceaseless inventions of dualistic notion
Are but the quagmire of knowledge, of opinions, of beliefs,
Absorption in the voracious mind-body identity,
In the ever-beckoning sirens of desire.
All merely distractions
From the timeless awareness,
The every-moment one-and-only reality
Within and without all creations great and small.