07 November 2014

Three Hundred and Eighty-NIne


What are you really doing that you have not done perhaps countless times before.
You are a pattern, the same as everyone and everything else.
Death will only wipe the slate clean.

* * * *
Are you really all that interested
In allowing others to take up too great a portion
Of what little eternity remains in this finite, mortal container?
Puttering along as Brahmin is far more enticing.

* * * *
Hot or cold, hard or soft,
Awake or asleep, engaged or unengaged,
Honest or dishonest, clothed or naked, seen or unseen,
Clean or dirty, comfortable or uncomfortable,
Self-absorbed or self-absorbed,
It is all the same.

* * * *
The great fear is imaginary, vain attachment
To the endless cravings of sensory body.
It has no ultimate reality, whatsoever.

* * * *
The Eve Gene strikes again.
Nothing is never enough.

* * * *
Assumptions abound.

* * * *
It is through imagination
That this universe is created.
In your own image, so to speak.

* * * *
What is jealousy but an abiding insecurity,
A sense of ownership with a tinge of loathing.

* * * *
The intriguing thing about the indivisibility of nothingness
Is how it permeates every smidgen of this touchy-feely matrix.
A majestic banquet that leaves consciousness ever hungry for more.