18 December 2014

Four Hundred and Fifty


Existence is often painful, churning in every sort of struggle and conflict,
And each in his/her own way daily endures the agony and ecstasy into which they are cast,
Until that last exhaling breath finally exchanges the myriad pleasures and pains
For the serenity of the oblivion to which all inexorably succumb.

* * * *
What are good and evil but different aspects of the same monkey-mind.
Where else in the universe could such absurd notions possibly exist?

* * * *
Ultimately, it is the movement of imagination,
The innumerable perceptions to which you are so attached.
The key to freedom is in the stilling of the busy mind
And a clear, discerning, fearless detachment,
Toward the infinity of sensory hooks
Playing out within and without.

* * * *
What is any given childhood but the same mind
Empty of a lifetime of perceptions, of fears, of desires,
Of every flavor agony and ecstasy can concoct.
Forget everything, and be reborn
Into what you were before all beginnings.

* * * *
Traditions, folklore, myths, legends, parables,
What enticingly brief notions, brief distractions.
Mortality proves the insignificance of all histories.

* * * *
Who cares, really, what any critic or censor thinks.
Let them make their own movie, write their own book,
Paint their own painting, create their own creation,
And see how trivial it is for any to judge another.

* * * *
Are you moving through now?  Is now moving through you?
Or are you simply now, eternally aware, infinitely absolute?

* * * *
Pass on what you can, to as many as you can, as often as you can.
You never know who will have the ears that hear and eyes that see.
Nor what will flower in the challenging dreamtime now unfolding.