11 April 2015

Four Hundred and Seventy

470


Wisdom is the upshot of a great deal of pleasure, a great deal of pain, in every way imaginable.
It is the outcome of having watched patterns over and over enough
To well know their inevitability.

* * * *
You must have a deep and earnest yearning for oblivion to discern it for long,
Elsewise, the inattentive mind rockets off in one direction or another,
And there you are, back in the same old, tired, hurried flux.

* * * *
Are you the identity to which you so resolutely cling,
Or the ephemeral awareness that perceives it all,
Prior to consciousness, prior to imagination?

* * * *
Curious how so many seem to choose
To spend so much of their supine existence
In little boxes suckling the dreary teat
Of rambling bureaucratic malaise.

* * * *
How similar we are in our differences.
How different we are in our similarities.

* * * *
Call it justice, call it revenge,
But some form of law will be kept
By whoever possesses the biggest club,
In whatever way the pendulum of time swings.

* * * *
This world is filled with great violence and chaos.
Most cannot afford a bodyguard, much less an escort,
So it is wise to always be prepared should the need arise.
Si vis pacem, para bellum: If you want peace, prepare for war.

* * * *
It seems far less likely that humans were made in the image of some deity,
Than they are fashioned of the infinite imagination of singular quantum design.

* * * *
A fist is a stone is a club is a sword is a spear is an arrow is a bullet is a bomb is a missile.
In warfare born in the jungles, in the rivalries of long ago, the relativity of technology is all.


Four Hundred and Sixty-Nine

469


Why would anyone have difficulty seeing this mystery as a spontaneous creation?
Why would anyone assert any make-believe creed when none are essential?
Why would anyone fathom a god limited by any vain confabulation?
Why would anyone resist discerning they are whatever it is?
Why would anyone ever feel the need to be anything
But very much present, very much right here, right now.

* * * *
Humans are always so wrapped up in what others think of them.
What a curious dependency is bred into our monkey blueprint.

* * * *
What is this monkey-mind need to identify with things,
To always be describing ourselves in so many ways,
Tagging ourselves as so many this’s and that’s?
As if all the labels have ever meant anything.

* * * *
We are just DNA doing what DNA does.
Toss consciousness into the instinctual cauldron,
And you have the good, the bad, the ugly,
In spades beyond counting.

* * * *
What greater serenity can there be
Than to be alone with one’s thoughts
Steeped in the timelessness of awareness.

* * * *
Envision a mystery so hugely now
As to include you in its field of awareness,
You as one of its incalculable eternal witnesses,
Indivisibly one in every way, every shape, every form.

* * * *
Imagine, if you will, a poker table with Santa Claus,
The Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Peter Pan, and Jesus,
All wearing baseball caps, chomping on cigars, sipping whiskey.

* * * *
Bother that it is for those who must endure the mortal aspect,
The quantum essence cannot know its Self but through creation of the other,
In as many ways as possible as often as possible, to better reflect upon all things imaginable.


Four Hundred and Sixty-Eight

468


Philosophers, students of existence that they are, ponder anything and everything.
No stone is left unturned as many times as is needed to learn
Whatever it is he/she is born to discern.
We are all seekers seeking out one fate or another.

* * * *
The river would not be but for the spring at its source.
And the spring but for the clouds from the sea,
And the sea but for the returning river.
To every thing there is a season,
A time to every purpose.

* * * *
Just you, totally alone, absolute, indivisible,
The senses streaming a world, a universe,
To which no time or space is attached,
The eternal life of the quantum soul.

* * * *
What are you but
A historical collage,
An economic statistic,
An anthropological result,
A psychological adaptation,
A sociological paradigm,
A scientific curiosity.

* * * *
All sense of persona, of Self,
Is a temporal fabrication of imagination,
Of the winds of consciousness blowing every which way.
Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

* * * *
Consciousness is an evolutionary mutation of instinct.
The fruit of this garden world is knowledge.
Once it was plucked from the vine,
Once Pandora’s Box was opened,
Once the Genie was out of the bottle,
All the cards followed suit, all the dominos fell.
Much less about original sin than it is original separation.
The rub is reattaching the fruit, closing the box, corking the bottle,
Shuffling the cards, and somehow putting Humpty-Dumpty back together again.


Four Hundred and Sixty-Seven

467


Despite the muddle humanity has in every way imaginable made of it,
How can it possibly be that all creation is not fashioned of the same source?
All the creeds ever devised across all eternity cannot negate this one indelible truth:
That the quantum in one is the quantum in all, and the quantum in all is the quantum in one.
No one possesses the ultimate indivisibility any more than anyone or anything else,
Regardless of the incalculable machinations of the undiscerning multitudes
Given over to every imaginable paradigm under any given sun.
Do not be drawn into delusion by the fog of words.
Monkey-see-monkey-do is not bona fide.

* * * *
Erase concern for humanity's inanities.
Until the splintered souls of this dualistic world wake up,
The insane silliness of separation will continue.
That may or may not happen,
Depending on the many choices underway.

* * * *
That prior to consciousness is awareness.
Awareness is timeless, consciousness, time.
Awareness is still, consciousness, movement.
Awareness is reality, consciousness, imagination.
Nothing less, nothing more, nothing but.

* * * *
All you are, all anyone or anything else is,
Is the quantum awareness playing out a pattern,
A blueprint, a design, an archetype, a genetic construct.
Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but.

* * * *
Is this whole dream, is all of eternity,
Just an interminable recording going on and on?
The Unknowable merely playing it all out to pass the time.
A cavernous awareness simultaneously inhaling,
Through every eye, every single moment.

* * * *
Most are likely easy targets should anyone want to do them harm.
The challenge in this dreamtime is to either make as few adversaries as possible,
Or to have the wherewithal to build castles and armies great enough to fend off the barbarians.
Not too many folks get to play pharaohs and kings and other war lord things ,
So most must choose the former as the fickle fates allow.