01 September 2014

Three Hundred and Seventeen


Neither supernatural storylines nor daunting deities
Nor ornate edifices nor imposing statues nor gold-trimmed regalia
Nor grand paintings nor elaborate décor nor great multitudes, do for truth make.
Hokum is hokum, twaddle is twaddle, bunkum is bunkum, claptrap is claptrap, drivel is drivel,
Hooey is hooey, gibberish is gibberish, absurdity is absurdity, no matter the pretense.

* * * *
If it is your calling, your vocation to know you are that which is godness,
Know that you will discern it within, it will become you,
And you will be the all-seeing witness
Of the all and none.

* * * *
Many a herd will be only too whistle-while-they-work happy
To stampede anyone and/or anything into dusty hamburger.

* * * *
You will suffer until you let go of your universe,
And the incessant movement of the mind that sustains it.
Until you give way to the stillness of the awareness,
The source from which all dreaming streams.

* * * *
A theater, a carnival, a university,
Which daily grows less and less enticing
As the world, the universe within
Gradually becomes undone.

* * * *
If Jesus had written down his thoughts,
Would there even be a Christian religion?

* * * *
So idolatrous they cannot even begin to see it.
Too laughable to even bother arguing about it.

* * * *
What are gods and demons, what are heavens and hells,
But the imaginary, stuporous vapor of fear-ridden minds.

* * * *
Not too much longer before this mortal dream will fade into oblivion.
What a relatively short set of streaming moments any given life truly is.