23 July 2015

Four Hundred and Eighty-Seven


What are the sensory organs – eyes, ears, tongue, nose, flesh – of any mortal vessel
But readers of the ever-streaming colors, flavors, tastes, smells, and textures.
What is any universe but awareness witnessing the creative handiwork
Of the mind’s rendering of the data the nervous system weaves?

* * * *
What is birth but the beginning of a story, and death its end.
It is in the manifestation, the consciousness, that all creation unfolds.
For the newborn, not a care in the world, chaste awareness,
Witnessing the senses buzz away, slowly sculpting,
The narrative, the chronicle ahead.

* * * *
When you are done with it all,
When you have consumed in every way more than enough,
Then it is time to do absolutely nothing
As often as possible.

* * * *
You have been diminishing since you were conceived,
But it is not until it becomes steadily, readily apparent
That it becomes absorbingly, annoyingly bothersome.

* * * *
With all our so-called astuteness and aptitude,
To ultimately comport as mindlessly as any cancer
Is irony and absurdity intertwined well beyond measure.

* * * *
For any newborn, a whole life ahead,
And no operator’s manual to aid in the long and winding labyrinth.
Just a world chock-full of memes striving diligently
To absorb them in endless absurdity.

* * * *
An examined existence is an unlikely probability
In those whose thoughts been prompted by a dreary education
Bent on shaping the given mind into a mundane widget of the ordinary kind.

* * * *
What is the point of an education that does not inspire critical thinking?
What is the point of an education that does not inspire the mettle to inquire fully?
What is the point of an education that does not inspire the capacity to question everything?