07 November 2014

Three Hundred and Eighty-Eight


You well know the many sights, the many sounds, the many tastes, the many smells, the many textures,
The many thoughts, the many passions, the many pleasures, the many pains.
What more could you possibly want or need?

* * * *
What is pain?  Is it physical?  Is it mental?  And which is real?  And for how long?

* * * *
You need not keep rehearsing, you need not continue practicing.
You have your little character down, you have it figured out.
The big challenge now is enduring getting off the stage,
Taking off the costume, and departing the theater.

* * * *
Impossible to even begin to comprehend
All the boundaries, all the limitations,
In this inane ball of consciousness.

* * * *
Whatever you do is your fate.
There is no changing it, really.

* * * *
In the grand eternal now,
You are that which was never born,
That which can never die.

* * * *
Dogma is the charade
Of followers lacking the wit or will
To discern for themselves the sovereignty within.

* * * *
The you, you so earnestly imagine you are,
Is naught but a synergy of everyone and everything
Ever compiled in your brief, very temporal frame of reference.

* * * *
When you are out of kilter, when you need to recover some detachment,
When you need to reset, rekindle, retune, reorganize, recalibrate,
A greater perspective from one hellish moment or another,
It generally works to take a physician-heal-thy-self-time-out ride
On the flying carpet of imagination to some other shard of your dreamtime.