28 July 2014

Two Hundred and Sixty


The infant begins with no knowledge
Of what it is seeing, hearing, touching. tasting, or smelling.
Over time the collusion into which it has been cast will sculpt it to its own ends.
Few will likely ever doubt with enough abide-alone courage
To decline and return to the natural state.

* * * *
How can you expect another to see the real you
When you, your Self, have never, can never see it, either?
It is naught but reflections, smoke and mirrors,
Only as real as imagination pretends.

* * * *
From the seed-lines of your parents,
And all your ancestors since life’s beginning,
You have funneled into awareness.

* * * *
You are immersed within the sea of grace,
But are too blind to quench your thirst.

* * * *
None of this is really happening.
You are not a body,
Nor a world,
Nor a universe.
You are That I Am
Prior to all boundaries
Concocted by consciousness.

* * * *
It is ever the same nothingness,
The same mystery, the same unknown,
The same quantum-hologram-matrix-ether,
Into which the given sensors extend their probes,
And generate universes of every variety and dimension.

* * * *
You can see, hear, taste, smell, and touch
Everything having to do with the play of consciousness,
But it is awareness -- unknowable, indiscernible, indivisible, enigmatic,
Mysterious, impenetrable, inexplicable, inscrutable, incomprehensible, indecipherable --
That is the source, the fountain, the ground, the essence, the witness, of all.