16 May 2014

One Hundred and Thirty-Four


Yet another unique and novel experience.
Another current event, another occupation, another obsession,
Another relationship, another group, another role,
Another this, another that, another other.
And the point minus all the vanity again was?

* * * *
We are all twisted up in one way or another.
No use getting all worked up or discombobulated about it.
It is not like anyone has been dealt a perfect hand.
Monkey faire across the board, so to speak.

* * * *
Can there be any without, without within?
Can there be any within, without without?
Is there any degree of separation, really?

* * * *
Dressed to the nines or stark naked,
We are all just a cluster of monkeys.
Genetics casts it shadowed fate in all.

* * * *
The sensory reverie draws the infant
From the benign womb of beingness
To a universe of incessant becoming.
Eternity is given over to imagination.

* * * *
The mystery of existence,
A few breaths, a few heartbeats,
Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

* * * *
Your world, your universe, expands in consciousness
Until you at long last realize fully that it never really existed
As anything more than a indivisible, ephemeral dream,
To which eternal awareness is sovereign witness.

* * * *
This timeless, very present moment,
Is all that is, all that has ever been, all that will ever be,
Since long before imagination first began, to well after it last comes undone.