05 July 2014

Two Hundred and Forty-Six


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.