25 July 2015

Four Hundred and Ninety-One


All the so-called scriptures were written by seers and sages
Really no different than anyone who has pondered existence before or since.
We are all cousins of the same puddle responding to the life and times into which we are cast.
The geography, culture, language, technology, and on and on, are inevitably different,
But guaranteed, beyond all doubt, we are all very much the same monkey-mind,
And prior to that, very much the same quantum stardust of all creation.
It is but a veiled, temporal play in which the myriad players
Are, in the ultimate eternal reality, one in the same.

* * * *
Discerning eternal life takes a little more insight than mere belief coupled with hope.
It is always right here, right now, but you must have the astuteness, the wit,
To realize, to perceive, that time is but a notion of consciousness
Masking the eternal here-now, the majestic theater
Within which all manifestation dances.

* * * *
How many books have been written since the advent of the printed word,
Most of which have been long lost, many likely all but unread.
So much thought, so much effort, and for what?

* * * *
What is this herd instinct to follow, to imitate, to duplicate?
Why would you ever want to mimic anyone else’s vanity
When your own is surely more than absurd enough?

* * * *
Every mind imagines a world to which its nature-nurture,
Its capacities and limitations, its frame of reference, subscribes.
No one can be more or less than what the genetic lottery has allotted.
Any rubber band, no matter how elastic, can only stretch so far.

* * * *
Eternal life is the instinctual default for all life forms,
And though many creatures may exist with some sort of sense of time,
Humankind is so immersed in it as to need religion and every other form of distraction
To offset the pain and suffering that a clock full of memories inspires.

* * * *
The extraterrestrials will have a great time exploring our relics, watching our movies,
And perusing all the bookstores and libraries that managed to stay open until the pithy end.
We will be big hit in some galaxy far, far away: the little green scholars and twelve-legged bards
Will cast nets far and wide in every sort of speculation about humankind’s rise and fall.