04 November 2014

Three Hundred and Eighty-Three


Free of past, of future, of desire, of fear.
Free of birth, existence, identity, hope, dread, death.
Free of the sensory theater, of the world, of the universe, of any god.
Free of anything and everything, free even of nothing.
Simply awareness, eternally alone.

* * * *
The universe is so vast, and we so small.
Intriguing how the multitudes are so absorbed
By so many trivial, inconsequential, vain pursuits,
Considering them so important all the while.
Nero is not the only one fiddling away.

* * * *
Agonize for as long as it pleases you.
It will only end when you are finished
With all pursuit of rhyme and reason.

* * * *
Any given existence
Is merely an endless parade
Of agonies and ecstasies
That only touch those
Attached to illusion.

* * * *
Pay attention.
That moment is gone,
And another who knows how many
Just streamed by, too.

* * * *
Are you really any more
Than the smokiness of any flame?
That ghostly trail wafting casually from a pipe
Is truly as real as your meager little role in this vast dream.

* * * *
You want to know the one and only truth?
It is all you, nothing but you, and you absolutely alone.
Now, Pilgrim, sally forth against the many windmills of space and time,
And discover yet again that you are the source, you are Brahman,
If such a dreamy destiny be yours in some future telling.