24 September 2013

One Hundred


100


Imagine, if from your birthing,
You were among a simple, wise people,
Who clearly explained that you were godness,
That you were the epicenter of your personal universe,
A guardian of this garden, and that all the universe around you
Was filled with teachers, each blessed for their gift, whatever it might be.
And that you were also one of their teachers, likewise blessed, likewise ordained.
Imagine that you were brought up with the certainty that each and every fellow life form,
From the very greatest to the very smallest, are all kin in the highest sense,
And that you are a solitary witness to the eternal song of godness,
Never to doubt, even once, that you are truly of the one.

* * * *
We are all of the same awareness
Etched by the diversity of consciousness
Into untold assumptions of self-absorbed pretense.
It is only at the source that you will discern
The vast, indivisible commonality.
There truly is no other.
Thou art God.

* * * *
It appears that you are ensnared for yet another day
In this mortal frame, so profoundly temporal.
Yet you are not a body, you are not a mind.
You are not, have never been, nor will ever be,
Bound by any manifest container that any creation,
No matter how inexplicable, has ever, or can ever, muster.

* * * *
You are that which is brick and mortar to all spaces, all times.
That which is witness to every dimension, every dream.
That which is awake even during the deepest sleep.
That which is asleep in even the most alert vigil.
That which is the tiniest, infinitesimal point.
That which is the most infinite expanse.
That which none can either claim to be,
Nor feign, except in delusion, not to be.
That which is, ever was, and will ever be.
That which is not, never was, and will never be.
The quantum matrix prior to all imaginings born of mind,
The eternal nature prior to all attributes formed of consciousness,
Indivisible, unblemished, singular, supreme, sovereign, absolute, without peer.


Ninety-Nine


99


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.


Ninety-Eight


98


Born into this inexplicable, exquisite, beguiling garden world,
And all the temptations it so nonchalantly offers all who lack the restraint of self-discipline:
Pride … covetousness … lust … anger … gluttony … envy … sloth …
And the hedonism, narcissism, greed and divisiveness
Harbored within all who succumb.

* * * *
What bother to even for a moment care what others think of you.

* * * *
What does everyone do every morning they awaken,
But re-fabricate their imaginary narrative,
Suit up in the appropriate costume,
And walk out into their day.

* * * *
The sanctions of gods and tyrants, of any other,
Is meaningless to those sovereign within.

* * * *
Best to keep your wackiness to yourself
Unless you enjoy the stares of strangers
And the attention of the powers that be.

* * * *
Martyrdom, is there any greater vanity?

* * * *
So many things you might have parried
Had it somehow come to mind at the time.

* * * *
From the beginning of time’s invention,
Deities have been concocted in every geography
To moderate the mind’s dread of its inherent emptiness.
Humankind has distracted itself with every imaginable diversion,
And still the abyss of oblivion yawns forever eternal.

* * * *
Across all time and space, you have been called by many names, many sounds,
None any more true, any more real, any more meaningful, than any other,
And yet what monumental wars of mind and body have been fought
Over the exalted concepts to which consciousness is so vainly attached.


22 September 2013

Ninety-Seven


97


How free any given newborn.
Pure awareness untouched, untrammeled,
By all the past events or future concerns, all the burdens,
All the baggage they will one day inevitably carry in dreamtime’s passing.

* * * *
For those fully imbibing the stillness before time, there is a return to wonder.
From the source within, from oblivion's rainbow, the song of godness.

* * * *
To wander alone, anonymous, in a crowd of strangers,
No need for the politics of recognition.
Eternal witness,
As serene as a placid stream.

* * * *
It has always been a modern world.
All history is the make-believe
Of minds bound in time.

* * * *
Be total awareness.
The only way out is within,

* * * *
Nothing dreaming everything.

* * * *
A temporary guise, an ephemeral story,
That you are not, never were, will never be.

* * * *
Unrelenting and wretched absurdity
Each and every moment across the board.
If there were some sort of supreme being out there,
Would it really be any wonder that it long ago abandoned us
To our own implacably irrational design.

* * * *
Why would any supreme being ever need to waste time judging you,
Or instigate any more anxiety than you do upon your Self
And all the others you do so earnestly condemn
On a daily basis to one hell or another.