30 May 2014

One Hundred and Thirty-Six


136


The grace of this unknowable mystery is within all great and small,
Discerned fully by the few granted the vision and insight,
And the inclination to peer eye wide open within.

* * * *
All paltry and meaningless, the idolatry of the Golden Calf.
To trade the treasure of Creation for a few gold coins.
What ignorance the many vanities hath wrought.

* * * *
It is all surface sheen to the underlying formless,
An opportunity to peek from behind the veil
For brief moments dreamed in time.

* * * *
The truly homeless are always home.

* * * *
Reconciling nothing with its Self
Is pretty darned absurd,
Yet there it is.

* * * *
Whooooosh …

* * * *
Death becomes us all.

* * * *
You have always been alone.
It is your one and only nature.

* * * *
Yet another weary moment flowers
Through the endless projection of vanity.

* * * *
The face is but a mask upon which character is written.

* * * *
Anything could be better; anything could be worse.
Gratitude for whatever has been offered, whatever has been given,
Is the one of the greater challenges of contentment.