14 May 2014

One Hundred and Twenty-Six


When you were an infant, when you were a child,
Before you became attached to the body and the world about you,
Before you began fabricating a sense of identity,
What was the quality of mind
In which the renaissance will be discerned?

* * * *
Like groups with like, only differences apart.
Instinctual or imagined, it is the nature of all great to small
Born of this garden world, this theater in which
Enigmas of every sort rise and fall
In ephemeral grace.

* * * *
Before all beginnings, all endings.
After all endings, all beginnings.

* * * *
Those who speak do not know.
Those who know do not speak.
The great silence stills tongues.

* * * *
So much effort, so much ambition,
To attain that which you already are,
Have ever been, and will ever be.

* * * *
No one can ever know the future.
Every single moment unfolds seamlessly
In its own profoundly, inexplicably synergistic way.

* * * *
It is all nothing,
And therein resides the meaning:
Infinitesimal, indiscernible, insignificant, immeasurable.

* * * *
Everything between you and me,
Everything between this and that, and that and this,
Is completely relative in the manifest, time-bound, comparative sense.
But from the essential, ultimate perspective,
All are seamlessly absolute.