06 July 2014

Two Hundred and Fifty-Two


Forget the world, forget the universe,
Forget everything you imagine you really are,
Everything you are not, have never been, will never be.

* * * *
Why would death really be all that different than falling asleep?
The only difference is that the imaginary you
Never wakes up again.

* * * *
Around and within awareness, a food body is created,
And for a brief duration it witnesses Self
Through a tentative lens
Of whatever consciousness
The nature-nurture dream allows.

* * * *
Existence is an odyssey without and within.

* * * *
A refrain, a mantra for those
Who feel the need for such things:
I am not this body …
I am not this body …
I am not this body …

* * * *
Dust is a very close relative.
No use too often bothering about it
Lying around doing nothing.

* * * *
We are all abodes of the same truth,
Despite our seemingly limitless intoxication
With every sort of imagined difference.

* * * *
Pray tell, where is this supreme being outside the Self?
This great creator, this absentee landlord,
This driver asleep at the wheel,
That so many are so convinced exists.
Where art thou, oh noble lord of heaven and earth?
Do you exist anywhere but in so many vain plays of imagination?