01 December 2014

Four Hundred and Twenty-Five


Some play soccer or baseball.
Some paint trains, or put sailing ships in bottles,
Other read, write, walk, cook, garden, or lounge about watching television.
We must all pass our time in one fashion or another.
Some consciously, some not.

* * * *
The real you has never been born
In as many forms, in as many places, in as many times
As there are zeroes to follow any number,
And yet your eternal nature
Ever remains indivisibly immaculate.

* * * *
As you have forgotten so many vague perceptions,
You have very likely been forgotten by far more.

* * * *
Another vaporous trail of tasteless bread crumbs
For those who would aimlessly wander
The road less traveled.

* * * *
Everyone articulates an entirely unique universe
Based on the ceaselessly evolving nature-nurture
Intertwining through the their conscious design.

* * * *
All are born anew each and every eternal moment,
But it is the realization of the reality within,
And the total dissolution of the mind’s fabrication,
That is for every earnest enquirer the greatest challenge.

* * * *
You cannot help but disappoint anyone
Whose set of expectations, whose field of vision,
Is self-serving, narrow, irrational, unreasonable, delusional.

* * * *
Maybe turn your cheek once, even twice,
And then, well, the primal imperative may need to quickly kick in,
Unless you are keen on being scourged and crucified.
Martyrdom is indeed enticing for some.