05 July 2014

Two Hundred and Forty-EIght


The actuality of the ultimate truth is a stark quality
For which relatively few have either interest or inclination.
Delusion is, indeed, much more comfortable, much more gratifying.

* * * *
Some are blessed, though many might argue cursed,
With a sense of doubt, with a capacity for irony and paradox,
With a skeptical wit that gradually transports them
Into a transcendent, indivisible state.
It is a rare destiny, this return to wonder,
To which all are beckoned, but few are chosen.

* * * *
Innocence realized, liberated, and wandering in wonder,
Does not require much of this world, or of any other.

* * * *
From the same mysterious source,
The ephemeral dreamtime of all beginnings, all endings,
All causes, all effects, all parts, all stages,
All everything, all nothing.

* * * *
It is all really the same you through and through,
And each must wander the pathless dream alone
To discern the presence of the infinity within.

* * * *
Sometimes you sleeps, sometimes you wakes,
Sometimes you sits, sometimes you wanders.

* * * *
Unless you take matters into your own hands,
You will endure whatever death you are given.

* * * *
We are all very unique characters.
The challenge is which forms of uniqueness
We choose to embrace, or at least comfortably tolerate.

* * * *
There is no other side other than in the endless intrigues of parasites
Vampiring the treasure of the meek destined only to inherit the earth.