06 September 2014

Three Hundred and Thirty


History is the arbitrary highlighting of selected snapshots
From eternity’s indivisible, ever-graceful streaming,
The crisscrossing of the endless array of ripples
Which bring notable events to realization.
And from those streaming moments,
New ripples ever make their way
In dreamtime’s quantum play.

* * * *
You must someday die to this mortal vessel.
Enlighten and liberate your Self now.
Rebirth of the unknown is now.

* * * *
We are all cousins of the same puddle,
But that indivisible truth seems to do little
To heal all our innumerable differences,
Imaginary as all differences truly are.

* * * *
Unending bliss must surely be
Swimming in the depths of the sea,
Or soaring into the heights of the heavens.
Whales, eagles and other such fellow earthlings
Must wander in a state of consciousness
Few human beings ever reclaim
After childhood’s end.

* * * *
Try to wake up today, give it a go.
Try to transform into what you really, truly are,
Rather than endlessly regurgitating
What you think you are.

* * * *
The immediate is, without peer.
Serene, tranquil, peaceful, graceful, aware,
Ever-steady, indivisible, eternally immeasurable, absolute.
To reside in the here now is to know eternal life.

* * * *
You must be somewhere, sometime, in the play in which you stream
But how could it ever really matter to the indivisible where and when?