27 February 2015

Four Hundred and Sixty-Five

465


All become inured to a certain degree of physical and mental pain and suffering,
To where even a twisted ankle, a burnt finger, or the plucking of a nose hair,
May barely warrant much more than a fleeting curse of a few synapses.

* * * *
The monkey-mind lays claim to every imaginable choice of behavior.
What rock has not been turned myriad times beyond remembering?

* * * *
The time of consequences will increasing play itself out
Until the Reaper finally yanks you off the stage.
Keep a couple coins handy for Charon.

* * * *
What is knowledge but busy-busy distraction
From the what is of the unfolding moment.

* * * *
What is death but not waking up again.
Nothing to anticipate, nothing to dread.
Nothing to hope for, nothing to believe.
All attributes are but the mirage of mind.

* * * *
When your gods, your idols, your dogmas,
Have for the last of many times failed you,
Perhaps you will at last learn to stand alone,

* * * *
Imagination sallies forth,
Always behind, no matter the moment.
The collusion putters on of its own synergistic whimsy.

* * * *
Suicide is not cheating death,
Only taking a  hand  in how it will happen.
Rather than lingering for a more tedious, painful finale.
Charon still earns his obol for yet another voyage across the river Styx.

* * * *
The manifest space-time continuum is not linear.
It is a boundless, indivisible, multidimensional, quantum matrix,
Eternally singular, inexplicable but for imagination’s dynamic, time-bound potential.


Four Hundred and Sixty-Four

464


If the reality humankind is creating is not all that appealing, should you pretend everything is wonderful,
Or call a spade a spade, and hazard being unpopular, hazard being shunned by the other monkeys?
To be of the mob, or not to be of the mob, to be alone, or not to be alone, that is the question.

* * * *
Fear is the harvest of all the agony and ecstasy imprinted in the mind and body.
Transcend it via the quantum field where imagination is but a flurry of stardust.

* * * *
Every one’s account of awakeness cannot help but be different,
As are all things that emerge from the ground of consciousness,
Conditioning being such a strong mainstay of its erratic nature.

* * * *
This mystery of this vast creation is a interminable enigma.
The Greatest Story is at best be surmised, never told.
All notions are but speculations of imagination.
Nothing more, nothing less, nothings but.

* * * *
Talk a anyone as much as you please,
It is up to them to listen as sincerely as possible
To get the truest, most viable translation.
It is about inquiry, not dogma.

* * * *
The quantum matrix programming is indivisible,
Indelible, indifferent, inexorable, indissoluble, indefatigable;
Intelligible only through the incisive code-breaking
Of mathematics, art, music, linguistics,
And other paradigms intuited by imagination.

* * * *
The newborn is but simple awareness.
The identity that will gradually in imagination bloom
Will be the mind-body’s nature-nurture adaptation to the sensory play.
The means to survive, to endure physically and psychologically,
The dreamtime into which it has been by chance cast.

* * * *
What need for belief, for hope, for faith, for love, for philosophy, for fealty, for dogma,
For any attributes born of the other which are but ever-moving shadows within the ultimate.
What is, is, and it is an immeasurable singularity prior to any and all quantum theaters.


Four Hundred and Sixty-Three

463


No idol, no dogma, can compel anyone to be anything that does not sally forth from within.

* * * *
When there is no place to be but wherever you are, where can death have any entry?

* * * *
Who can read such thought as these whose ground is neither tilled nor fertile?

* * * *
Immerse in the quantum womb of that which is prior to consciousness.

* * * *
Good fortune is finding yourself in someone’s safekeeping.

* * * *
Consciousness is movement, awareness just is.

* * * *
The singularity in every sort of disguise.

* * * *
Common sense, such as it is.

* * * *
Yes, it is that simple.

* * * *
Aloneness is its own harbor.

* * * *
What is death but the end of vanity.

* * * *
What are the loins but quantum heir looms.

* * * *
Why do you feel any need to participate in it as you do?

* * * *
What need for compassion in this ever-churning god-eat-god universe?

* * * *
From the infinity prior to all beginnings to the to infinity beyond all endings, you are.


Four Hundred and Sixty-Two

462


The anxiety over death is within those who live in a mind of every sort of dread.
If you are existing fully, if you are born and dying every moment,
Then what fear of the inevitable end finds harbor?
Eternal life is the inexorable grace
Of those who discern their immortal nature.

* * * *
So absorbed by the space-time continuum of your little dream,
That only during rare moments in the given here and there
Will you detach from the mind, a bag of neuron goo,
Seemingly filled with every imaginable inanity
Born of the ceaselessness of consciousness.

* * * *
One must forget absolutely everything to discern that
Which only the utter stillness of presence can know.

* * * *
The human paradigm is steadily approaching
Its not very appealing decline, if not conclusion.
Kind of a reaching-the-edge-of-the-petri-dish thing.

* * * *
What was important yesterday likely is not today.
What is important today likely will not be tomorrow.
What is important tomorrow likely will not be the next.

* * * *
You believe what you choose to believe,
But believing does not, has never, and will never,
Make any falsehood or any fabrication into something true.

* * * *
Suspend the thought process,
The movement of the sensory mind-body,
Rest easy in the essential state, attentive to the ground,
To the eternal in which the many boundaries between within and without
Dissolve into the immeasurable prior to consciousness.

* * * *
To have gotten this far in life, to have reached this very here-now moment in time,
Is pretty friggin’ amazing, considering what it took to endure the agony-ecstasy of it all,
Or that you even managed to somehow survive those many, many very close calls.