07 November 2014

Three Hundred and Eighty-Six


It is through language that all conscious distinctions are made.
Prior to the articulation of imaginary self through personal pronouns,
Prior to the fabrication of knowledge, Eden was free of any dualistic notion.
There is no god, there is no devil, there is no heaven, there is no hell,
But through the ceaselessly absurd confabulations of mind.

* * * *
And what, really, is there to dread about the dissolution,
The evaporation, the oblivion, of the body and mind,
Of this imaginary identity of the manifest kind?

* * * *
How predictable it is for any given monkey-mind
To disparage, to resent, to even hate,
The countless things
Outside its finite frame of reference.

* * * *
Is it better to perish quickly, painlessly,
Or slowly, so that the unfolding agony
Lets you know you are still breathing?

* * * *
The god so many project
Is really formed and adorned
With their own narcissistic vanity.

* * * *
Is it real hunger,
Or just the insatiable mind
Choosing between different sensations?

* * * *
Wake up, my dears.
You are all the same oneness.
Move beyond your self-absorbed dreams.
They are not, have never been, nor will they ever be,
The infinity of godness you truly are.

* * * *
Shopping, shopping, shopping, until you be dropping,
Looking for the next thing you just cannot possibly exist without,
But will very likely forget as soon as it is stowed away in one closet or another.