31 July 2014

Two Hundred and Sixty-Two


Ignorance being its own distorted, corrupt end,
There is really very little point in debating with any true believer.
If someone is seething dogma about anything fashioned of this manifest dreamtime,
Then it is no doubt much less bothersome to put them behind you,
And just wander some other direction.

* * * *
Heaven has been here all along if you had lacked the vanity to see it.

* * * *
You keep trying to make sense out of something
That will never make any sense no matter how hard you try.
All you can do is breathe in, breathe out,
And with the flow go.

* * * *
No one can stand upon the shoulders
Of those who have come and gone before.
Each must discern his own way,
However high or low,
Clear or dense, true or false.

* * * *
The choir quibbles over absurd nuances
Which have no real meaning.
You are the oneness.
It is that simple.
No need for any dogma.

* * * *
It is all just theater,
The actor within each of us,
The same witness, playing every form
In an boundless matrix beyond all comprehension.
How could it be anything less?

* * * *
Probably almost everyone has got a lot of other
Much, much more important things to do
Than mull over their inner mystery.
Who can disagree that it is much more intriguing
To stare deeply into the screen of a state-of-the-art smartphone,
Than it is the infinite void of a lint-infested bellybutton?