18 November 2014

Three Hundred and Ninety-Three


One man’s babble is another man’s song; one man’s pleasure, another’s pain.
No one sees, hears, tastes, smells, feels, anything the same.
We all sail alone within an ocean’s dream.

* * * *
The origin had to be nothing, else something could not be.
But where oh where did nothing come from?
The ultimate unanswerable question.

* * * *
Why narrow your Self to this or that assumption,
When you are in every way truly nothing
But the clear space of awareness.

* * * *
You need not believe anything.
The awareness you are, does not require
Any movement of consciousness
For you to witness the play
Created by the senses.

* * * *
The harvest of guilt
Is shame and remorse.
Forgive your Self, move on.

* * * *
There is neither time nor space
But through the play of the senses
As witnessed by the awareness you are.

* * * *
No matter how hard you try,
No matter what valiant efforts you make,
You can never win an argument with Mother Nature.
She be in charge; best learn her way.

* * * *
Going further than a couple zeros on either side of the decimal point
Is the abstract realm of theoreticians of one focus or another.
Scientific abstractions, as accurate as they may well be,
Travel through conjectures all but meaningless to daily existence,
Wherein consciousness must sound the depths of its own imaginary invention.