28 August 2014

Three Hundred and Eleven


The infant is within a sensory swirl of sights, sounds, tastes, smells, and touches,
For which it has not even one concept by which to gauge the universe yet to exist.

* * * *
Heavens and hells, karma, or any other afterlife speculation of reward or punishment,
Are nothing more than fabrications of ever fearful, ever unhappy, ever-conniving minds.
The one and only truth – all that is, has ever been, will ever be – is timelessly here now.

* * * *
We are a species destined for a relatively quick decline, if not extinction,
For our scarcity of right relationship to the rules of engagement
Orchestrated by the game board’s divine natural order.

* * * *
The difference between home invasion and conquest,
Between a suicide bomber and a guided missile,
Is but a relatively minor matter of degree.
Attitude is all.

* * * *
Dissolve desire, set aside fear,
And what is left but the essential you?
Rest your weary mind and body,
Dive into the pool of serenity
That is the source of all.

* * * *
Vanity, vanity, all is vanity,
But often painful just the same.

* * * *
The unknown is faceless.
Put away all the photographs,
Forget the reflection in the mirror,
Shelve all the knowledge of this and that,
You are the immeasurable, you are the mystery, ,
As pure, as simple, as free, as you allow your Self to be.

* * * *
As seen from perhaps the darkest before-the-storm points in human history,
Given the nature of our kind, is it even at all possible, that an enlightened paradigm
Might, like the fabled phoenix of mythical origin, rise up from the debris?
Away from the busy din, idealistic notions are so easily spun.