01 August 2014

Two Hundred and Sixty-Nine


If someone over age five declared that they believed in Santa Claus,
The Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Harvey the Pooka, vampires, or any other imaginary friends,
The true believers of any given creed would laugh, and think him but an idiot and fool.
Well, mirror that vain notion for a moment, and know what a fair number
Think of any and all dogmatic, holier-than-thou assertions.

* * * *
Call it religion, call it spirituality, call it mysticism, call it philosophy,
Or call it whatever else the incessantly restless mind concocts,
All conclusions are ever merely the speculations of vanity.

* * * *
Another layer of sediment drifting toward the ocean floor.

* * * *
So, do you seek the truth, or just another lie?

* * * *
The world will be scarred
With the ruins born of mind
For a long, long time to come.
There is no going back.

* * * *
When Jesus said put no gods before me,
He, hopefully, was not referring to Jesus.

* * * *
The doubt of your doubt by others
Can be a precarious, infecting snare.
The quest for certainty is a solitary pursuit.
You may spark others, but must ever be vigilant,
Lest the flame be inadvertently damped by ignorance.

* * * *
If the strategies and tactics
You have established to survive are failing,
Do you have the intelligence, the gumption, the fire in the belly,
To adapt to new ones in order to continue on?

* * * *
Who can be sure what mystics across the world really knew or meant?
And with the muddle of vain commotion they initiated, who cares, really?