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From the now so-long-ago entry
into this dream world,
You have been conditioned
to believe so many things truly matter,
And have gradually
discerned many of them, if not all,
To indeed be very dubious
assumptions.
Where to now, Pilgrim,
Now that doubt is your
filament?
* * * *
Every sage across the world, across
time,
Utilizes the language, the geographic
assumption,
The frame of reference from which s/he
hails.
So many ways to say the same thing.
* * * *
Loving each other may have
been
A goal beyond reach, a bar set a little too high.
How about we just try to tolerate each other
And all our vain, imagined differences?
How about we just try to get along,
Try not to destroy everything
Before Mother Nature
Somehow manages to off us?
* * * *
What is mine? What
is not mine?
Who is the me who possesses anything?
Who is the me who does more than imagine
That anything can be gained, anything can be lost?
All possession is of such a short while,
No matter how long.
* * * *
You are the awareness
before time.
That which is godness by
whatever sound
You may choose – or choose
not – to ascribe it.
* * * *
True science is about the never-ending
quest
For the most certainty possible about
any given focus,
Which is, of course, all too often
handicapped, even paralyzed,
By politics, funding, technology,
expertise, competition,
And any number of other itsy-bitsy
limitations.
By which all manifestation is ever
bound.
