30 May 2014

One Hundred and Fifty-Nine


159


Epiphanies are often like the sudden crack of jostling billiard balls
That launch their recipients off in new and unexpected adventures.

* * * *
What in consciousness is not an arbitrary assumption?

* * * *
So many vast divides in the countless nuances
Of the imaginary nature of consciousness.

* * * *
All gods, all religions, all dogma,
Are nothing more than vain projections
Of the mortal mind born of time.

* * * *
Nothing is ever the same.

* * * *
This too shall pass.
Everything does and forever will.
‘Tis the fate of stardust.

* * * *
All imperfection is born of imagination.

* * * *
What never is, never was, and will never be.

* * * *
A golden age of plunder and narcissistic decadence,
A never-ending smorgasbord of the seven deadly sins,
-- Wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony --
Played out over and over in every way imagination allows.

* * * *
Nothing is more than a little absorbing, if you can abide the aloneness.

* * * *
For want of an audience, the choir endlessly chatters on and on and on to itself.

* * * *
What arrogant, meaningless, often squalid dogmas crisscross this spinning ball of dust.