13 July 2015

Four Hundred and Seventy-Two


Regarding destiny:  Do you choose it?  Or does it choose you?
Is there free will, chock-full of options, in this theater of space and time?
Or is the entire reverie nothing more than an indivisible, juggernauting recording,
An infinite matrix witnessed by the ultimate you in every way imaginable?

* * * *
Most everyone is going round and round one track or another.
But there are some dazzling sporadic exceptions,
And they lead remarkable lives.

* * * *
Total freedom is the end of the countless assumptions
Born of the busy-busy, incessantly chattering mind,
The dancer dancing in the nowness of awareness.

* * * *
Are you moving through time and space?
Or is time and space moving through you?
Or is anything, anywhere, moving at all?

* * * *
When you are completely, totally, alone,
You need not believe or pretend anything.
You can be free to be absolutely nothing.

* * * *
The real you is not this flesh-and-bones edifice.
All identification is unqualified fabrication.
No concept can encompass anyone or anything.
All definitions are deficient, no matter how profound.

* * * *
Every life form is of a seed line,
An eternal thread of life sowing new life,
All gushered from life’s origin, however it began,
To which speculation and conjecture proffer every answer.
That the unknown is forever unknowable does not seem to register.

* * * *
What irony that in the face of an incredibly astonishing mystery,
Humankind has lost itself in an absurd collusion of every possible vanity.
An entirely imaginary invention, this myopic notion of a separate, individual persona.
A duality sparked in consciousness when it began its evolutionary spin in the jungles of long ago.