03 December 2014

Four Hundred and Thirty


Truth is not something for which you must petition permission to discern.
You are on your own, all alone in an odyssey of Self-discovery
Within the infinite essence of the quantum sea.

* * * *
Curious how the rich, the famous, the powerful,
Bask in the adulation and envy, or disparagement, of the masses.
Everyone on one path to glory or another.
It is a monkey thing.

* * * *
Life, long no matter how short, short no matter how long.

* * * *
Alas for the sciences that they shall never discern
The very first moment consciousness
Separated from Eden.

* * * *
You are bound in dreamtime
Until the samsara of consciousness
Has played itself out in you.

* * * *
To destroy a fellow earthling
Without cause, purpose, or meaning,
So much unnecessary, unwarranted suffering,
For what, really?

* * * *
This garden world owes you nothing.
It provided the seed, and you are doing with it
Whatever the dreamy space-time of consciousness wills.

* * * *
The course humankind has taken is not all that rousing anymore.
The petri dish is getting too trashed, too crowded,
Too predictable, too absurd.
It is all vanity,
And there is really no way out
But for the rarest, most astutely discerning,
Who can, in the face of any temporal sensory temptation,
Maintain a steadfast immortal presence in the eternal “so it goes” of it all.