18 June 2014

One Hundred and Ninety-Seven


To be concerned what posterity thinks of you is meaningless.
It is absurd enough spending this temporal existence
Endlessly mired in the muddle of the other,
Without projecting your narcissism
Into the maze of delusion
Long after your exit.

* * * *
Once you are no longer attached to pleasure or pain,
Once you are detached even from death,
What is there to fear?

* * * *
The yoke is light because there isn’t one.

* * * *
What a trip it is to exist,
And what a pointless stream
Of nonsense and bother
So many attach to it.

* * * *
It will absorb the you
That has never been you,
Unto the depths you relinquish.
Easier said than done.

* * * *
Regarding some messiah
Coming back to save anyone,
What, pray tell, is there to salvage
But a mortal vat full of narcissistic notion,
And a world well afoot into its dystopian calamity.
Far too absurd to even bother about.

* * * *
No need to burden this harried, scarred world with more dogma.
Think for your Self, wander where you will, live free of all claims.

* * * *
Serenity is just too much for most monkey-minds to bear,
Without pushing over one apple cart or another
Just to create a little wanton drama.