04 November 2014

Three Hundred and Seventy-Eight


If you yearn a relatively simple, candid, anonymous existence,
Better to be born a peasant than a king, better to be a nobody than a somebody.
For there are far fewer constrictions imposed by the many others,
And it is much easier to live the life you choose.

* * * *
History is written by winners, losers, survivors, abiders,
Or whoever makes the effort to set one version or another down.
But sooner or later all eyes grow dim, all ears go deaf,
And all chronicles are lost to wind of eternity.

* * * *
What hath science, industry, technology and commerce
Wrought upon this spinning garden world
And all its innocent residents
This fine day?

* * * *
Who, what, when, where, why, how
You were before manifest time's dreaming began,
You will be again after its last breath.

* * * *
If you are a demon in mind and body and spirit,
Then this dream world offers every opportunity
Your dearth of imagination may possibly obsess.

* * * *
Whose idea was this creation thing, anyway?
Oy vey, what a headache, and for what, really?
A theater of the absurd, with narcissistic hedonism
The grand puppeteer from beginning to end.

* * * *
And what does the actor do with the given life
Once it is clearly, absolutely understood that it is all
Nothing more than hollow, impromptu theater?

* * * *
The awareness is not the manifest dreamscape.
It is the unfolding creation from which all things ascend.
It is for each to discern, to perceive, within their individual dream,
That they are the same awareness, the same source as any other is in theirs.