17 October 2014

Three Hundred and Seventy-Five


No matter how real it all seems, the you that you know
Is only the whim of imagination swirling amid the senses.
An arbitrary, ephemeral set of perceptions from the get-go.
You have never been more than this every moment streaming.

* * * *
Everything we take for granted in the given day-to-day
Is, really, just as astounding as all the things
We consider inexplicably mysterious.
How are we not every moment lost in wonder?

* * * *

To be content with the life you have been dealt,
Royal Flush to not even a high card,
That is the challenge.

* * * *
Yet another intriguing nuance to the universe,
The world, the human condition.
Yawn, ho-hum.

* * * *
Even now, after a plethora of dreamtimes,
Nearly everything under any sun,
Still you long for more.

* * * *
Awareness is not,
Has never been, will never be,
Confined by any limits set by consciousness.

* * * *
It takes a strong, disciplined spirit
To sustain a steady course amid the rocks,
The sirens of imagination singing out every temptation.

* * * *
The very curious thing about so many organized religions
Is they truly believe theirs is the only true religion,
And that their true god will favor only them,
And will cast everyone else into hell.
Groupthink is groupthink,
No matter the flavor of the Kool Aid.

Three Hundred and Seventy-Four


There is no existence in any creation that will not be illusion,
Because, no matter how hard it tries, Self, the grand witness in all things great and small,
Can never discern its true reality but through the reflections of otherness.
So, delude yourself in any and every way for all eternity,
It is ever the same dreamer dreaming,
Ever you in one imaginary holograph or another.

* * * *
What is the point of an existence that lacks thoughtful reflection?
That moves through time without the nuance of critical thinking?

* * * *
Six billion human beings born in just two hundred years.
How could anyone seriously expect or believe
That it would not inevitably devolve
Into anything less than near-total anarchy.

* * * *
All nature consumes to its limits.
Everything has limits.
Balance is all.

* * * *
Family is a given,
Friends, a pleasure,
Acquaintances, tolerable,
Adversaries, a bother,
Enemies, a hazard.

* * * *
Not to worry or panic,
But rest easy that tomorrow
You will likely forget something else,
Along with making any number of foolish mistakes,
And maybe even a very major screw-up.
C’est la vie and so it goes.

* * * *
Religion that is not religion, belief that is not belief,
In which momentary awareness is the only faith required,
Staged ever-streaming in a sensory theater of an eternal dream.
No one can help you realize your ultimate, indivisible reality.
You must discover it completely, totally, forever alone.

Three Hundred and Seventy-Three


It is a mystery.
It is the mystery of all mysteries.
It is not a Christian mystery, it is not a Jewish mystery.
It is not a Muslim mystery, it is not a Hindu mystery, it is not a Taoist mystery.
It is a mystery that does not belong to, or favor, any –ist, or any –ism.
It is not subject to any idolatry, it is not subject to any dogma.
It is a mystery free and clear from any and all claims
By any individual or group across all infinity.

* * * *
Yet another collection of ethnocentric idol-worshippers
Bent on convincing everyone theirs is the one and only.

* * * *
Sometimes a good offense is the best defense,
Sometimes a good defense is the best offense,
And sometimes just best to get out of Dodge.

* * * *
What to do once you see?
Some flee it, some embrace it,
Some straddle the fence.
Whatever calls you,
Imitate no one.

* * * *
Forget the body,
Forget the mind,
Forget the world,
Forget the universe,
Forget everything.

* * * *
To wander in awareness,
Without accumulating this or that,
Free from ownership of any thought or thing.
Holding onto nothing, how difficult can that be, really?

* * * *
From infinite to infinitesimal, everything to nothing, known to unknown,
Top to bottom, great to small, here to there, this to that, that to this,
You are indivisibly, infinitely, perfectly, absolutely connected,
Yet completely, irrevocably, forever alone all the while.

Three Hundred and Seventy-Two


A vastness filled with whirls of consciousness,
All within the same immortal, timeless awareness,
The quantum matrix of that which is prior to all naming,
That source that is the one witness within all great and small.

* * * *
Why would it ever possibly matter to be known in the minds
Of others you will never even have the misfortune to meet?

* * * *
All these so many thoughts really mean diddly-squat.
They are merely a means to the end of all beginnings.

* * * *
A multi-dimensional, ephemeral dream of matter,
With which you identify for a brief sense of time.

* * * *
The only real enduring solace
From the ceaseless storms of consciousness
Is immersing into the aloneness.

* * * *
How quickly a ripple can turn into a tsunami.

* * * *
We must all endure so much pain.
How is it we do not all feel compassion
For each other and all creatures great and small.

* * * *
Aphorisms are no different than fine wine.
Inhale them fully to plumb, to fathom the insight,
Imbibe them slowly to perceive, to discern the wisdom.

* * * *
Existence is indeed painful, but to be free and at ease is possible,
If you discern the calling, and are willing to let go of everything.

* * * *
Every body-mind is a facet of the ever-unfolding genesis,
An every-moment fabrication of evolution,
Nothing more, nothing less.