30 May 2014

One Hundred and Sixty-Five


True aimless wandering is the art of surrendering to the unfolding moment.

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Soul gorp for those who doubt, those who fathom irony and paradox.

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As much free will as the genetic lottery and winds of time allow.

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Who will be the last historian to chronicle the human epic?
Who will be the last witness to the rise and fall of our kind?

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A never-ending story, this play of consciousness.

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Self-loathing is not a healthy place to dwell.

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The stage into which you are born
Shapes this brief, mortal, time-bound play.
Anatomy is destiny, character is fate.

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You are a portal to the infinity of totality.

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In the fall of even the greatest mountains,
A stonecutter begins with a single swing.

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Why long for so many things that can never be?

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To hold out hope that humanity
Will achieve some sort of utopian ideal
Only shows how little is understood of the history,
Make-believe that it well is, into which we have all been cast.

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We are all dreams in each other’s minds,
Different players kaleidoscoping across the same stage,
Dancing in the quantum matrix, in whatever way consciousness calls.