09 October 2014

Three Hundred and Fifty-Seven


How fortunate those whose destiny it is to attain virtuosity in one realm or another.
Only just less fortunate are those who can appreciate the virtuosity of every realm.

* * * *
Whether or not any given mind can always remain happy, perhaps even joyful,
Is an inquiry each must explore, and only perhaps ascertain, very much alone.

* * * *
Is not the world humankind has together created purgatory enough?
What can you expect from a creation chock-full of vain sheeples?

* * * *
Is there any greater curiosity than how absurdity has become
Such a dominant reality in the evolution of the monkey-mind.

* * * *
Greet your executioner with a cheerful nod, a handshake,
Maybe even a hug and peck on the cheek, if time allows.

* * * *
How many have awakened, and to what degree?
How many have not woken up, and to what degree?
And does it really matter any degree either way?

* * * *
Keep devouring, keep ravenously wolfing it all down.
Maybe one of these sorry daze, you will finally be full.

* * * *
A curious thing how those with whom we are most familiar
Must often endure, in part or whole, our withering contempt.

* * * *
If a tree falls in a forest, unwitnessed, did it ever really happen?
If a tree falls in a forest, witnessed, did it ever really happen, either?

* * * *
All translation must be observed with a dubious, discerning eye,
Especially the interpreter, the sorter, the filter, in your own inured mind.
Everything you perceive translates through the biases of your frame of reference:
Entirely subjective, entirely slanted, entirely unique, entirely idiosyncratic, entirely alone.
Step back from your conditioning, and realize from the dispassionate view of the quantum matrix,
That your entire existence from womb to grave is all nothing more than the huff and puff of imagination.