30 May 2014

One Hundred and Sixty-One


Smaller and smaller, infinitesimally smaller, or larger and larger, infinitely larger.
How can there ever be any end, any finale to this intractable mystery?
Be still, and know that which all, that which is none.

* * * *
Many are muddled by thoughts such as these
Because they are questing guarantees of consolation and security
In a touchy-feely, three dimensional dream world
That can never offer any such thing.

* * * *
Why trouble trying to liberate those content
With what would to you be a prison?
You cannot awaken the dead.
Many are called; few are inclined.

* * * *
The things we for vanity endure.

* * * *
And who has it ever really been
But the ultimate, indivisible you,
That has perceived any of this?

* * * *
You are the ethereal moment,
Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.
To seek more is to settle for less.

* * * *
The only solution for the times ahead
Will be the same as it has always been:
To muddle on as the given moment allows.

* * * *
Imagination is, within the vastness of awareness,
Both the least and greatest common denominator.

* * * *
How much of what you do in any given day
Is because of the countless others,
Most of whom you will obviously never encounter,
And, if you did, many of whom you would likely not be really all that fond.