04 July 2014

Two Hundred and Forty-Five


In all its countless imaginary measurements,
The creation of knowledge is inevitably born of limitation,
Yet beyond the mind-made limits, the mystic observer, a true scientist,
Remains as equally attentive to the immeasurable now as s/he would any experiment.
The observer is the observed; the observed, the observer.
There is naught but one.

* * * *
What can really be born in the infinity of quantum nothingness,
For which birth as consciousness imagines it,
Is nothing more than a dream.

* * * *
This time, too, will one day likely be called ancient,
Assuming anyone is still around and about
Pondering such things historical.

* * * *
Awareness, oblivious to the play of good and evil,
Allows every dream of consciousness
To have its day in the sun.

* * * *
We are all deluded by the given context.

* * * *
This week, yes, next week, no.
And after that, more of the same.

* * * *
Another day.
Wake up, get up, suit up,
There is a universe needs witnessing.

* * * *
Where would, where could awareness be,
Without a body-mind in which to imagine self?

* * * *
At the point of diminishing returns,
As resources dwindle, as people become increasingly desperate,
Competition becomes more and more fierce.
Rarely a pretty sight.