12 May 2014

One Hundred and Thirteen


No matter where you may be in this vast mystery of creation,
No matter how many ways you find to distract your Self,
You are ultimately and forever alone all the while.

* * * *
Must consciousness inevitably fall on its own sword
For its inability to strike some sort of balance
Amid all its self-absorbed absurdities.

* * * *
If you are bound up in the hell your own creation,
You may well be your own judge and jury,
Perhaps far more harsh with yourself
Than any other would likely be.
Forgiveness begins within.

* * * *
You will always discern your Self
In the nooks and crannies
Of every existence.

* * * *
Don’t worry, be happy.
Easier said than done.

* * * *
Only in utter stillness
Can the you that is really you
Be free of the you that is not really you.

* * * *
And if you had it to do over again,
Would you do it even harder and faster,
Than you have this little rehearsal of a soiree?

* * * *
That from which all existence emanates
Will ever be an unknowable, enigmatic whodunit,
Far too vast to be constrained or explained by any creation.

* * * *
An un-papered intelligent life can go head-to-head any day of the week
With all the diplomas and certificates hanging framed on so many walls.