17 October 2014

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.