04 September 2013



The senses offer an ever-kaleidoscoping, timeless universe.
Why be overly concerned about where it has been, or where it is headed,
When the ever-present nowness is in itself so extraordinary,
A mystery to be witnessed however any wills.

* * * *
The mountains of the so-called spiritual climb
Are not really about any particular geography or time.
The metaphors of philosophers should only rarely
Be taken as more than figurative wordplay.

* * * *
As challenging as it can be to recall,
When push comes to shove,
There’s not much use
Getting too upset about things.

* * * *
Imagination is the time machine.
Travel where you will, Pilgrim.

* * * *
Once a placid, winding river,
The roar of the falls is now very near,
And sounding nearer each and every moment.
Who will survive the chaotic mayhem
In the harsh rocks below?
Who will journey
The waterway of history
Beyond the coming Great Fall,
And what stories will their destinies tell?

* * * *
Who will be the last historian,
The last chronicler of the human paradigm?
Who will be the last to discern, to set down all that has passed
Since the first recording of humanity’s dream?

* * * *
Paradigms within paradigms within paradigms,
Gauges of undiscernable proportion dancing in the froth of consciousness,
Flowing about this spinning jacuzzi with all the other bubbles,
Paradigms within paradigms within paradigms.