01 September 2014

Three Hundred and Twenty


So many lost little boys, so many lost little girls,
What is a world already facing an existential crisis going to do
With a brand new generation about to join in on the cancerous feeding frenzy?

* * * *
It is the collective synergy of human endeavor
That is carrying our kind, all the myriad creatures great and small,
And our illusory, dreamtime, garden birthing ground,
Toward a most certain outcome.

* * * *
The labor of children is timeless play.
The labor of adults, all too often time-bound drudgery,
A state of mind to which none need succumb.
To retain the innocence of a child
Is a wondrous gift.

* * * *
Forget that you were ever born.
Die to all past and future.
The streaming now
Is the awareness you are.
Everything and nothing all the while.

* * * *
It is the body that is growing older,
Not the ageless, indivisible, immeasurable you,
The awareness that was never born.

* * * *
A Self-reflective inclination
Is obviously not calling
At every one across the board.
The abyss within is perhaps too large,
Perhaps too frightening, perhaps too unenticing,
For all but the rarest to want to peer into at any given time.
The old ‘many are called, few are chosen’ theme,
Played out in any given solar flare.

* * * *
You are only fooling yourself if you think you will be back.
You are only fooling your Self if you think you will not be back.
You can check out, Pilgrim, but, gosh and by golly, you can never leave.