23 July 2015

Four Hundred and Eighty-Nine


Temporal existence is a game of sorts,
In which by being born you must in one way or another play a part.
A game in which you must somehow learn the written rules, as well as those never once uttered.
A game you must endeavor to play as well as your capacity and limitation allows,
For as long as the mind-body endures the agony and ecstasy of it,
Or at least for as long as it manages to interest you.

* * * *
Has technology truly crafted this inexplicable garden a better place to live?
A mixed bag, a motley report card, a dubious bottom line, to be sure.
And to timeline it in biblical parlance: The day ain’t over yet.

* * * *
The one-percenters and their minions will always find a way
To make a dime or three on whatever the bottom-feeders do.

* * * *
How attentive are you the garden world about you?
The birth, the death, and all the exquisite dancing between.
And all the befores, all the durings, all the afters,
Ever the same inexplicable mystery.

* * * *
Like it or not, examining what is, is far more real
Than spouting an endless array of what-should-be’s.

* * * *
Look prior and beyond all religion,
And recognize for your Self the one and only Truth,
That you are That I Am, the source, the ground, the essence, its Self.
You are eternal, singular, sovereign, absolute.
There is no other.

* * * *
Why would you believe some deity
Would be more interested in you than everything else?
You really think being an a tree, an insect, a fish, or a bird, is any less absorbing
Than all the inflated silliness you are ever-managing to concoct?

* * * *
What agony, what ecstasy, it is to exist: every possible torment, every possible delight.
Each and every life form – across all time, across all space – experiencing a unique rendering.
And the awareness prior to the quantum source, witnessing it all – right here, right now – in every way.