04 November 2014

Three Hundred and Seventy-Six


Sometimes the mind become so clear
That it seems you have finally awakened for all eternity.
But then the murkiness of consciousness resumes its conditioned grooves,
And you must once again stumble about the convoluted labyrinth of your own vivid imagination
Until the eternity of every moment breaks through the mists anew.
Perhaps someday you will be stay there.

* * * *
Freedom is truly your original state.
You only choose oppression
Because the senses have fabricated samsara,
And the mind, its ceaseless array of passions, of desires and fears.

* * * *
The sensory streaming is given
The illusion of continuity by consciousness,
But it is, has ever been, will ever be, eternity all the while.

* * * *
Good thing we found fig leafs and learned to sew,
Elsewise, walking down any given boulevard
Might be a rather terrifying experience.

* * * *
Pruning a tree or bush is challenging,
How much more so raising a child.

* * * *
Let us not confuse truth with comfort.

* * * *
Nobody can see through your eyes.
They have their own vision to discern.

* * * *
This moment, this right now,
Is all there is, and there ain’t no more,
No matter how much imagination yearns it so.

* * * *
You are the writer in the writing,
The singer in the song, the painter in the painting,
Ever wandering an inexplicable dreamscape in your own solitary way.