26 November 2014

Four Hundred and Fourteen


All our imaginary universes are built upon frames of reference.
Each of us can only see, hear, touch, taste, and smell
What minds have been conditioned to know.
The mystery equally contains all.

* * * *
As real as it may seem in the moment-to-moment
Of this three-dimensional sensory theater,
None of it has ever truly been
More than a brief sensory distraction.

* * * *
A different day, a different life,
A different form, a different world,
A different universe,
Same Soul.

* * * *
Formless or no, it is all you.

* * * *
So much to remember.
Much simpler to forget.

* * * *
How can infinity be measured?
Science is bound by its limitations.

* * * *
You are already samadhi, happiness, bliss.
All you need do is still enough to discern it.

* * * *
We are all that which is called god by many names,
Each of us exploring our own unique aspect of creation.

* * * *
And why do you need to believe in anything concocted by mind?
Is not just being enough, without all the babble born of imagination?

* * * *
The ocean is made up of  an infinity drops, how could all this be any other way?
Without the splintering, there would be no existence, there would be no witness.