18 December 2014

Four Hundred and Forty-Nine


What is it like to be so without doubt, so uncritical, so unskeptical,
As to be all together complacent, consenting, to the given propaganda?
What are the circumstances, the dynamics, that fashion the true believer?

* * * *
The river does not cling to the boulder, nor the boulder to the river.
Everything, every moment. the same smoky quantum streaming.

* * * *
The dilemma with too much is that it is just too much,
The dilemma with too little is that it is too little,
And the amazing thing about almost right
Is how few seem content with it.

* * * *
You are the immortal aspect of this vast theater.
DNA is but an ever-mutating wannabe,
A contagion of quantum origin.

* * * *
Just because it is a beyond-the-pale mystery
Does not mean it was fabricated by a deity
Who in some minds resembles Santa Claus.

* * * *
Even when you are alone with nothing to do,
It is challenging for the whimsy of imagination
Not to carry you out sortie after sortie into the fray.

* * * *
Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.

* * * *
Is man the measure of all things, or merely the measurer?

* * * *
How much the anticipation of death shades human existence.
The tingle of the executioner’s razor-sharp blade on every neck.

* * * *
Love thy Self, and, knowing Self to be in all creatures great to small,
Is it not likely you will be somewhat compassionate all others, as well?