06 July 2014

Two Hundred and Fifty-Five


Whatever is left of this passion play
Is really just the scratchy record of history
Singing the same predictable song over and over.
Many would happily re-shape the garden into a kinder place,
But, alas, the biological imperative will out.
Ignorance is the cancer.

* * * *
Death still bothers you
Because you have not fully grasped
You really are not the body to which you are so attached.
It seems to be a common misconception.

* * * *
The root of civilization is civility:
Goodwill, kindness, compassion, cooperation, reason.
Without these ingredients by all, towards all,
There is only conflict and chaos.

* * * *
To believe truth orbits within or about any idol
Is to miss the validity of any real teaching.

* * * *
There is not enough gold in a thousand universes
To quench Mammon’s insatiable craving for more.

* * * *
There goes consciousness again,
Always trying to take credit for everything,
As if its infinity of narcissistic notions really even exist.

* * * *
Each and every morning,
We all wake up
To one world or another,
To face the day prescribed by geography,
And the genetic lottery through which all are cast into time.

* * * *
Call it religion, call it spirituality, call it mysticism, call it philosophy,
Or call it whatever else the incessantly restless mind concocts,
All conclusions are ever merely the speculations of vanity.